


A Marriage for the North

by pinkgeranium



Series: The Pack Survives. [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Future Fic, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 05:13:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 49
Words: 101,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2456045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkgeranium/pseuds/pinkgeranium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Bran Stark asks Sandor Clegane the Commander of Winterfell's garrison to marry his sister Lady Sansa. Events take place seven years after the first book (GOT).  Sansa is 18; Sandor 34.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic. Kudos to GRRM for creating such complex characters and such an interesting world.

Sandor Clegane stood in his Lord’s solar and struggled to keep his composure.  At least the Broken Wolf had decided to have this conversation in private instead of in the great hall.

“Does she know?” he asked.  Lord Brandon Stark shook his head.

“I wanted to talk to you about it first, to get your consent.”

“Will you be asking for her consent then?”

“I need heirs for the North.  Rickon is young yet and I...” Bran looked down at his wasted legs and Sandor felt a surge of sympathy, but he knew better than to let it show on his face.

“There must be someone else.”

“She is ruined Clegane.”

“She is untouched.  She has sworn it and for my part I have sworn I never touched her.”

“And I believe you both but the rest of Westeros does not.  They believe she was wife to Lord Tyrion, and whore first to Lord Baelish and then to you.” 

“But none of it is true!”

“I do not doubt your word Clegane or that of my sister but the rest of Westeros...”  Bran made a helpless gesture.  “She is ruined in their eyes. The offers made for her are an insult to her and our family; and I need her to marry.  At least if she marries you she will be able to stay here at Winterfell.  Will you do as I ask?”

“Yes Lord Stark.  I will do as you ask.”

When he left Lord Stark’s solar Arya was waiting for him.  She leant against the stone wall beside the door, her sword on her hip.  Not needle, but the small broadsword he’d had Winterfell’s armourer make for her so she could practice in the yard with him.

She fell into step beside him as he strode away from the solar.

“Where are we going?” she asked

“I’m going to get some wine from the kitchens.  I don’t much care where you’re going.” 

Arya laughed. “You don’t need wine Clegane.  You need a fight,” she said resting her hand on the hilt of her sword.

“Not today wolf-girl.”

“You’re vile when you’re drunk Clegane and you don’t want to be drunk when Sansa seeks you out which she will as soon as Bran has spoken to her.”

“You know?”

“Of course I know.”  He should have known better than to ask. Arya could have rivaled Varys as a master of whisperers.  In the two years since she had returned to Winterfell she had proven adept at ferreting out every secret in the castle.

“Have you told your sister?”

“No.”

“You should have told her; told me.”

“It’s what you’ve always wanted; you should be happy.”

“It’s not how I wanted it though; is it?” he said and she could see the pain in his eyes when he looked at her. 

“She always was stupid,” Arya said before she could stop herself.

“Don’t say that about your sister.  She’s your blood.” 

They had reached the corridor which would take them to the kitchens and Arya saw him hesitate. “Let’s go to the yard.”

“You don’t want to fight me today Wolf-girl.  I might hurt you.”

“No you won’t,” Arya said with confidence, “you would never hurt me.”


	2. The Couple Confer

Lady Sansa Stark looked down at the activity in the training yard.  Her sister Arya and her sworn shield Sandor Clegane had just finished their bout.  Both were sweating and Sandor reached out and ruffled Arya’s hair, she reached up and pushed him away.  Sansa felt a strange tightness building in her chest and the pressure of tears behind her eyes – was Bran blind that he could not see he was marrying Sandor Clegane to the wrong Stark? 

When Arya had first returned to Winterfell two years ago Sansa had been enraged with her for leaving Sandor to die beside the Trident.  She had expected Sandor to hold a grudge too but he had not; he’d told her he was grateful that Arya had not given him the gift of mercy.  She imagined he’d told Arya the same thing and she’d watched the two of them become closer.  He never called Arya – ‘Lady Arya’; she was always just ‘Arya’ or ‘wolf-girl’.  Whereas he’d unfailing addressed Sansa as ‘Lady Sansa’ or ‘my Lady’ since he had found her in the Vale. 

The night of the Blackwater was the last time he had called her ‘Little Bird’ and she missed it. During her time in the Vale she had looked back on his interactions with her in King’s Landing and convinced herself he must have been in love with her to behave the way he had but she had been wrong.  When he found her; he had sworn himself to her and during all their months on the road he had behaved towards her with the strictest propriety but in the end it had all been worth nothing.  The whole of Westeros believed she had given herself first to Tyrion, then to Baelish & finally to the infamous Hound to stay alive and return to Winterfell.  She remained untouched yet her reputation was ruined all the same and now her Lord and brother was going to marry her to Sandor Clegane as no other man would have her.  Sansa walked down the stairs to the yard.

“Comander Clegane!”  Sandor turned from where he stood talking with Arya and bowed to her.  Arya smiled at her sister.  _She knows_ , Sansa thought.  _He must have told her_.

“Lady Sansa.  Would you like me to escort you to the Godswood?”

“Thank you Commander.”  He extended his arm to her and she rested her hand in the crook of his elbow.

They walked in silence as they crossed the yard, once they arrived in the Godswood they did not speak at first.  Neither was sure how to begin.  Then they both spoke at once:

“Did you agree-“

“Bran says it must be soon-“

They both stopped; Sandor gestured for her to go ahead.

“Yes I agreed.  It is time I was married.  Bran is right.  We need heirs for the North.  He would have us married quickly, he suggests we send a raven to the Wall to invite Jon and have the ceremony as soon as he arrives.”

“As you wish my lady.”

“I just wish that it was over and done.  I don’t much care if Jon is here in truth.  I will never forgive him for not coming back to us.  He left us as children to rule the North when Robb meant the task to fall to him.”

“He was little more than a child himself & commander of the Night’s Watch with a duty to fight the others and save the realm.  Your brother chose to honour his vows as your father would have wished.  You’ll regret it if he’s not here to see you wed.  You have little enough family as it is.”  His words surprise him.  These Starks, they have a way of worming themselves into his heart.  It started with Sansa, then Arya, then Bran and little Rickon and now he finds himself defending Jon Snow.  He no longer wonders at how people still speak of Ned and Robb Stark with tears in their eyes.  In all of his time with the Lannisters he believed himself loyal but he never felt loyalty in his heart as he does now. 

“When did he tell you?”  He does not ask her what she means. 

“Earlier this morning.”

“And you didn’t think to come to me, to warn me.”

“It was your Lord Brother’s place to tell you.”

“You told Arya.”

“She knew all ready.”

“And she didn’t tell me either.”

“I’m sorry this is not the marriage you deserve, or the marriage you wanted, but at least you know me.  You know I will never raise my hand to you.  That I will treat you well and keep you safe.  I have no title and no lands to take you away from your duties here.   You will never have to leave your family and Winterfell again.”  She has duties here it is true.  She is the Lady of Winterfell.  Arya has no interest in such things and Bran will never marry.  Rickon at one-and-ten is the same age Sansa was when she left Winterfell to go to Kings Landing and still so wild having lived much of his life without his family among wildlings and cannibals on the isle of Skagos.  They are all ready conscious it may be difficult to find a good match for him when the time comes.


	3. Jon arrives for the wedding

As soon as Jon dismounts from his horse Arya throws herself into his arms.  She, Sansa and Sandor are the ones who meet him in the yard.  Bran is in his solar and Rickon could not be found. 

The Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch has brought only four men with him.  One is his good friend Maester Samwell who has taken the opportunity to ride south to confer with Winterfell’s maester.

Jon approaches Sansa next kissing her cheek and then raising her hand to his lips.  “I thank you for your invitation sister.”  His relationship with her has never been easy.  Of all his siblings she has always been the most distant from him. 

He turns to Sandor next.  “Congratulations brother.”  If someone had told him seven years ago when Sandor Clegane first came to Winterfell with King Robert that he would be happy to call the man brother he would have laughed at the very idea.  But Clegane was a different man now.  He had tried to protect Sansa in King’s Landing, he had protected Arya in the Riverlands, he had rescued Sansa from the Vale and brought her home.  He had played an important part in the battles that removed the Boltons and the Freys from the North and had fought alongside Jon to vanquish The Others.  He had proved his loyalty to Bran many times and Rickon had been known to follow him around the castle like a dog.  The direwolves even allowed him to pet them. 

Jon had often wondered what it was that had made Clegane abandon the Lannisters and devote himself so completely to the Starks.  When Clegane had turned his cloak the Lannisters had been the most powerful family in Westeros and the Starks had been branded traitors to the Iron Throne. 

As things had turned out House Lannister - with the exception of Lord Tyrion - was ruined now while the Starks survived but there was no way Clegane could have guessed what would happen at the time.  Jon had long suspected it had something to do with Sansa but as hard as he tried to find evidence of feelings between his sister and her sworn shield he never had.

 In the two years since Arya had returned he had wondered anew.  Whenever Arya visited him at the Wall she brought Clegane as her only escort.  When she finally told him the truth of how she had lived in Bravos - a secret she was still yet to share with the rest of their family - she told him she had all ready shared the truth with Clegane.  Jon had tried to hide the hurt that he felt, he didn’t think he’d succeeded because Arya had sighed and tried to explain “I feel I can tell him anything Jon because he and I are the same.  I know he will never judge me or reject me.  He knows what it is to kill for others.  To leave yourself behind.”

Jon shook his head, he wondered why he was thinking about this now.  He was at Winterfell for Sansa’s wedding.  Arya had grabbed his arm and was leading him inside.  He glanced back into the yard.  Clegane was welcoming Jon’s men and giving instructions to the stable boys for the care of their mounts and Sansa was standing there watching him.  _She is not happy_.  The thought came into his mind unbidden.

“Come on you two!”  Arya called back to them in exasperation.  Jon watched as Sansa lowered her eyes and Clegane crossed to where she stood and offered her his arm.  _Neither is he_. 

* * * *

Bran asked Jon to sit up late with him in his solar.  Lord Stark wished to confer with the Lord Commander and despite feeling weary from his journey Jon could not deny his brother’s request.

“Have I done the right thing?”

“It’s an honour for him; and he will take good care of her.  Sansa can remain here.”

“They are not happy.”

“I see that, but sometimes a Lord must make different decisions to those a brother or a friend might make.”  Jon recalled the difficult decisions he had had to make in his early days as Commander of the Night’s Watch.  He had done things Jon the man would never have done.  Sometimes he still looked back on those days and asked himself if he should have made different choices but there was no undoing them now.  He was at peace with them; he’d made peace with them.  “There is no knowing if the decision will lead to good or ill but it is done now.  You can’t call off the wedding without further damaging our sister’s reputation.”

“Jon, it isn’t supposed to be me.  It was supposed to be Robb.  He was the oldest.  He had a wife.  I am too young and there are things I will never know.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be father either.  It was supposed to be his brother Brandon, whose name our father and your lady mother gave to you on your nameday.  The Others were a fairytale to our father, he never lived to see them but you helped us fight them, you helped us beat them, you helped save the North and the whole of Westeros.  You are a great Lord Stark.”

“I would give it to you, if you wanted it.  Robb meant you to have it.”

“Only because he thought you, Rickon and Arya were dead and he knew naming Sansa as his heir would give the Stark lands and titles to the Lannisters.  I made my choice and I kept my vows.”

* * * *

“You didn’t let Bran change his mind did you?”  Arya stepped out of the shadows in the corridor outside his bedchamber.  They had given him the room he had had as a child.  As Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch he was entitled to something better now but everyone at Winterfell knew he preferred his old room on the rare occasions he came to visit.

“Bran isn’t going to change his mind and if he did it would not be my place to interfere in his decisions.”  He recalled his vows as he spoke.

Arya followed him into his room and he closed the door.  It was often their custom when they were together to spend the whole night talking.  He hoped tonight wasn’t going to be one of those nights though because he was exhausted after his journey from the Wall and Bran had asked him to give Sansa away tomorrow in place of their father – as Bran could not walk and Rickon was too young.

“You wonder don’t you?  What made him leave the Lannisters?  How he came to serve us?”

“Of course I wonder, everyone wonders.”

“It was Sansa.

“Arya, I admit I used to think so myself but-“


	4. The Day of the Wedding Part 1

“All these years and you've never told her.  Don’t you think you should?” Sandor does not answer and Arya shoves the tunic at him.  She knows she should have wrapped it and anyone can see that it’s clumsily made.  There wasn't enough yellow fabric to make it long enough and one arm hole is slightly bigger than the other.  The three embroidered dogs are only crude likenesses although the third one is better than the first.  She cannot say what moved her to do this and she almost expects him to reject her gift but to her surprise he runs his hand over the stitched dogs as though they were precious to him.

“You made this?”

“Yes.  I know my stitching isn’t up to much.”

“It does the job wolf-girl; and no one’s ever made something for me with their own hands before.  I’m grateful.” 

Not for the first time Arya thinks how much he’s changed since the Riverlands, he never would have said such a thing to her then; but she would never have done such a thing for him either.  Her next question slips out before she can stop it, “Sansa never made you anything?”

“No.  She never did.  I suppose she’ll feel duty bound to make me things now.  Pretty me up once I’m her Lord husband.”  Something in his voice when he says this makes Arya want to cry.

“What will you do for a bride’s cloak?” He gestures to a small chest resting on the bed.  Arya crosses to the bed and opens it.  A yellow bride’s cloak with the three black dogs of House Clegane rests inside the chest.  The cloak is edged with black fur – perhaps from a bear.  It is richly made.

“I expected you to wrap her in that shabby green thing you insist on wearing. Where did you get a bride’s cloak?”

“Lord Tyrion-“

“Tyrion Lannister sent you a bride’s cloak?  Why would he do that?”

“When he had Clegane Keep demolished they found some things that belonged to my mother in the attic and he sent them to me.  He thought I might have use for them.”  Arya picked through the chest.

“He thought you might have use for a bride’s cloak?  And women’s jewelry?” Arya gave him a sharp look as she pulls a gold chain from the chest – a gold pendant bearing the three black dogs of the Clegane sigil dangled from it.

“I imagine he thought I might marry someday.”

“Who did he think you might marry?”

“Who can say?  Lord Tyrion prides himself on knowing things no one else does, much like yourself.” 

Clegane has never told Arya that he loves her sister but he has never denied it either. 

When Arya had first returned to Winterfell she had been shocked to find him there with her sister and her brothers.  She had remembered his final words to her in the Riverlands and wondered if she should warn Sansa.   Sansa had already been upset with her for ‘abandoning’ Clegane to die beside the banks of the Trident so Arya has hesitated to say anything and had gone back over the events in her mind instead to try and make some sense of this situation and this 'new' version of Sandor Clegane.  It was then that the truth had dawned on her.  Scarcely a day had gone by during their time in the Riverlands that Sandor Clegane hadn’t spoken about her ‘pretty’ sister. Then, at the inn where they had come face-to-face with the Mountain’s men it hadn’t been the news of Joffrey’s murder that had him drinking too much, too fast it had been the news that Sansa had married the Imp.  Now the Imp had sent him a Bride’s cloak?  She felt she was missing something once again.  Clegane was looking at her oddly and she realized she had been silent too long.

 “I know this isn’t how you wanted it but I’m happy you’re marrying Sansa today.  It means you will be my brother in truth because you are as dear to me as Bran and Rickon.”  She gets the words out quickly because expressing affection is not easy for her.

“But not quite so dear to you as Jon,” his tone is almost teasing and she laughs.

“No, although I told you about my experiences in Bravos before I told Jon and I think he was jealous.”  It is his turn to laugh now.  Arya swallows because she wants to get this out “The truth is you have been brother and father and mother to us all.  We were left as children to rule the North and you have served and protected us.  I know you did it all for her but you deserve to be part of our family.  Sansa will be lucky to have you as her husband.”

“Be sure to tell her that.  She’ll need reminding after she has to kiss my ugly face in the godswood.  Arya.  I don’t deny it started with your sister, but you Starks have a way of worming yourselves into a man’s heart.  I’ve felt it myself and I’ve seen men with tears in their eyes when they talk about your father and your brother the King in the North; let me tell you no one in the Westerlands is still crying over Lord Tywin.”  Arya wraps her arms around him and rests her head on his breast plate and he raises one hand to stroke her hair.  “I had a sister once,” he almost whispers, “she died too young but I like to think she would have grown up to be like you.” 

The door bursts open then and it is Rickon.  He refuses to learn to knock.  “Sandor! Arya!” He calls out and launches himself at them, adding himself to their hug, “it’s time.”


	5. The Day of the Wedding Part 2

Jon paused outside Sansa’s chamber. 

Arya had not kept him talking long last night but after she had left him he had struggled to find sleep.   He had no idea how to go about the task she had set for him no matter how often he went over their conversation in his head.

“Arya this would be better coming from you; gods it would be better coming from anyone but me.”

“She won’t listen to me and Bran and Rickon are too young to have experience with these matters.  That only leaves you.  Do you want them to be happy in their marriage?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then tell her what I am asking you to tell her.”

“How can I tell her that when I scarcely believe it myself?”

“I’m not asking you to tell her Clegane’s in love with her.  I just want you to open her mind to the possibility.”

“Good because I’m not convinced he is Arya.  You think I didn’t look for signs of that when he brought her back North?  The two of them had spent months alone on the road, sleeping rough surely if there were feelings something would have happened then.”

“What would you have done if something had happened between them?  While she was still married to Lord Tyrion?  While she was still so young?  Before you knew him as you do now?  You would have sent him away maybe even killed him.  Look harder.  Watch him tomorrow. But speak to Sansa before the ceremony.”

Jon dragged his thoughts back to the present moment.  He was as ready for this conversation as he was ever going to be.  He knocked softly on Sansa’s door.  Osha opened it.

“Lord Snow.”  He couldn’t tell from her tone whether she was greeting him or announcing him.

“Osha,” he inclined his head.

* * * *

Sansa sighs inwardly at the sound of her brother’s voice.   _Why could he not keep to the appointed time?_   She made sure she was ready early as she wanted a few moments to prepare herself for what is to come.  When she comes back to this room later the servants will have brought in all of Sandor’s things from his room above the guardhouse.  From now on this room, which she slept in as a child, in which her mother brushed her hair will no longer be her room alone.  It will become the room she shares with her husband.  She wishes she could tell Jon to go away but she can’t so she asks him to come in instead.

 “You’re early,” is what she says to him when he enters her chamber.

“I thought we might talk a little,” Sansa nods and watches as Osha withdraws from the room and pulls the door closed behind her.  _Jon looks uncomfortable_ she thinks _almost hesitant_.  By rights it is her mother who should be here with her now.  Her mother would hate it that Jon takes her place here as he will take her father’s place when she walks into the godswood on his arm. 

“Sansa, a man like Clegane.  He doesn’t give away this thoughts and feelings easily but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have them.”

 “I believe I know his thoughts and _his feelings_ better than you do.  I have lived in close quarters with him for four years now, _and_ I knew him before, in the Red Keep.”  _I may not know him as well as Arya does but I definitely know him better than you._   She had been so ready to love Jon when she returned back to North but after he refused to become their brother in truth and rule the North she has been unable to control her anger at him.  It should not have fallen to her, Sandor Clegane, a boy and the Council of Four to hold the North. 

“Sansa, why did Clegane come looking for you in the Vale?” 

Everyone asks her this, and she usually gives them vague answers.  Sometimes she wishes she had let people think he had come across her accidently but that seems to dent the valour of his actions and she can’t bear that.  It is not until she opens her mouth that she realises she is going to tell her own version of the truth.  “He made me a promise in the Red Keep.  The night of the Blackwater.  He didn’t mean to, he was drunk when he did it and half-mad from all the fires.  Sandor Clegane, the man who had never promised anything to anyone.  The man who was sworn shield to a prince without swearing an oath.  The member of the Kingsguard who refused Knights’ vows.  The man who never made a vow because he never believed the world was too awful to allow him to keep it.  Then he makes a drunken promise to a stupid little girl.  After he lost Arya in the River lands, and his drunkenness and rage on the Quiet Isle, he remembered his promise and set out to honour it.”  She is surprised at the resentment in her voice.

“Do you really believe that Sansa?  Did he never in all this time give you any indication that he might have feelings...?”

“No he never gave me any indication, of any kind.”  Talking to Jon about the Blackwater has brought the events of that night vividly to her mind, andsuddenly it’s like she is back there.  The scent of Sandor overwhelming her, how for an instant she’d thought he’d meant to kiss her; the time she’d wasted afterwards thinking he actually had, and the years she’s spent waiting for him to do it again.  She gives voice to her thoughts “I did think he had kissed me once but it was only my imagination.”

“You imagined he kissed you?” Jon seems confused by this.

“Yes.”  It takes her a moment to realise what she has done, why Jon is looking at her that way _.  You are still a stupid girl; you don’t imagine someone kissing you unless you secretly want them to._


	6. The Wedding and the wedding night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know - there is sex in this chapter.

Sansa walks into the godswood on Jon’s arm. 

All the guests are there, waiting.  Almost everyone stands on her side.  Sandor has no friends or family in the North or anywhere else.  Arya is standing at his side though and she nudges him with her elbow when she sees Sansa approach. 

Sandor turns to look at her as she walks towards him.  She feels as though a dagger has pierced her heart when she catches her first glimpse of him.  She should have been suspicious when Arya came to her room and asked to borrow her sewing supplies.  Arya had said she needed to do some mending but Sansa recognises the rough stitches in the tunic Sandor wears.  She is angry with Arya and with herself.  She has sewn her own maiden’s cloak in the grey and silver of House Stark with her house’s sigil proudly displayed on the back but she has given no thought to what Sandor would wear on their wedding day.  _He never cares how he looks._ Now as a reward for ignoring his need for wedding clothes she will have to spend the day staring at this ugly yellow tunic.  It is too short for Sandor, the wrong shade of yellow and the three dogs – well only the third was truly recognizable as a dog.  Sansa is seething.  Arya has staked her claim.  She has let Sansa know in no uncertain terms that Sandor Clegane will never be hers.  Even though he will be Sansa’s husband, it is Arya he will share his secrets with, Arya who will have his heart.

Sansa feels tears prickling behind her eyes but she will give no one the satisfaction of seeing them fall.  She pastes a smile on her face and directs it towards the man who is about to become her husband.  Something shifts in his own expression and she realizes he knows the smile she just gave him is fake.  He always sees through her lies and a fake smile is a lie. He has always hated it when she lies to him, it’s one thing about him that has not changed since the Red Keep.  _Gods why can’t she get that place out of her head today?_

As soon as she arrives at his side she reaches for his arm.  In every difficult moment of the last four years she has reached for his arm to steady her and she needs it now.  Jon kisses her cheek, nods to Sandor and steps back to remove her maiden’s cloak.  Sandor takes the bride’s cloak from Arya and drapes it around Sansa’s shoulders.  To Sansa’s surprise the Bride’s cloak is richly made though it smells of age. 

They say the required words before the heart tree and Sandor brushes her lips with his.  Sansa feels like a small bird is beating its wings inside her chest and without knowing why she does it, she rises onto her toes and places a slightly longer kiss on his lips in return.  He looks surprised and she hears laughter from some of the guests, the Greatjon’s louder than any of the others.  Arya catches her eye for a moment and smiles at her.  Sansa cannot detect any malice in it.  _Arya almost looks happy_.

Now they will go into the feast and everyone will offer their congratulations in turn.  In the press of people the Greatjon finds his way to her side.  “In case you’re wondering Lord Stark did discuss your marriage with the Council of Four; and we didn’t hesitate to give our consent.”  The Greatjon is one of the Four Lords who sit on the council.  They nominally rule the north as Bran is not yet of age to do so, but in practice they leave him to it.  _“The boy helped us beat the others,”_ Sansa has heard the Greatjon tell anyone who will listen, _“he’s a Stark and a seer besides, with more wisdom than some twice his age, so we let him lead.”_  

The Greatjon muses aloud to Sansa about how few Stark weddings have been held at Winterfell in recent generations (her father and mother were married at Riverrun; and her brother Robb in the West) and he hopes they will not have too long to wait for the next one. He nods in the direction of her sister. “The Lady Arya will make a beautiful bride.”

“Arya isn’t going to marry.”  Rickon speaks up from the Greatjon’s other side.  “I heard her tell Bran and Sandor so.  You will have to wait until I marry Queen Daenerys – that will be the next wedding at Winterfell.”

The Greatjon roars with laughter at this but Sansa cannot even bring herself to smile.  When Rickon was younger his insistence that he would grow up to marry Queen Daenerys had seemed sweet but as he grows older it is beginning to make Sansa uneasy. 

* * *

There will be no bedding of course.  The first thing Bran did once he took the Lord’s chair was to decree the custom would no longer be practiced in the North.  Those who had lost family at the Red Wedding and the few survivors of that tragedy had agreed with him.  So Sansa and her husband retire quietly to their chamber after the feast. 

When her maid arrives to help her out of her dress Sansa expects Sandor to send her away.  Surely he will want to undress her himself, but instead he steps out into the corridor, only coming back into their room once the maid has left. 

When he returns Sansa is sitting on the bed in her bed-gown unsure what to do.  She tries to remember her old Septa’s advice.  Sansa watches as Sandor crosses the room to where the servants have put his things.  He pulls out his bedroll and proceeds to lay it out on the floor.  She can almost see him weighing in his mind whether the position he has chosen is a safe distance from the fire, before he pulls it slightly further away.

“You mean to sleep on the floor?”  This is not how she imagined her wedding night.  _Does he not mean to touch her at all?_

“I once swore to you that I would never harm you.  I know this marriage was not your choice and I do not mean to insist upon my rights as your husband.  I hope I have never given you cause to think me a lesser man than the Imp.  We don’t have to do anything tonight.” The words ‘or ever’ hang unspoken between them.

“Yes we do,” Sansa is surprised at her vehemence.  “If there is no bloody sheet in the morning people will say all the rumours about me are true.  They will say it proves I was Tyrion’s true wife, and that I whored myself to Petyr and to you.  Tomorrow I mean to hang my bloody sheet in the great hall so everyone can see I was a maid when I wed you.”

Sandor stops what he is doing and looks at her.  He seems to be trying to assess if she is serious.  “This is truly what you want?”

“Yes.”

“It will hurt, I can’t stop it hurting,” he says.  At least he has never doubted her word.  He believes she is a maid. 

“I know.”

“I will warm you up first and try to be as gentle as I can.”

“I know.” 

He leaves his bedroll on the floor and begins removing his light armour.  It is a slow process and eventually she gets out of bed to help him.  When they have finished with his armour he leads her carefully to the bed and gestures for her to lie back before he joins her.  He kisses her on the forehead, the tip of her nose and her cheeks before kissing her lips.  His kiss is gentle at first then demanding.  She opens her mouth to admit his tongue and she feels something she has never felt before.  All the kisses she was forced to give Petyr Baelish never felt like this.  She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him back wanting to burn away the memory of every other kiss she has ever experienced except this one with her husband. 

When he pulls away from her lips she wants to protest but he is kissing his way down her throat to her breasts, and suddenly she feels his mouth on her right nipple through her thin bed-gown.  She feels heat and moisture and a delicious zing that travels from her nipple to the place between her legs.  He switches his mouth to her other nipple while his finger plays with the one his tongue has already sensitized.  Instinctively she arches her body upwards towards him and feels the hardness between his legs.  _He wants me._   She thinks and it is a huge relief.  Then he abandons her nipples and continues to kiss his way down her body, she can feel the moist heat of his mouth through her bed-gown.  _Why doesn’t he take the damn thing off_ she wonders, _so I can feel his skin on mine? This is torture_.  He lifts the hem of her bed-gown and kisses her down one leg and up the other until his face rests between her thighs.  She feels his breath first and then his tongue.  _Oh Gods it feels good_.  When Randa had first told her about this way of being with a man she had blushed and thought it sounded unsanitary, but now she was experiencing it for herself she can see the attraction.  The pleasure was intense while at the same time it made her long for something more.  When he started using his fingers as well it drove her wild and suddenly her whole body was engulfed in a spasm of pleasure.  She cried out and Sandor’s mouth was on hers kissing her hungrily but he tasted different this time. 

When he pulled away from her lips he whispered in her ear before he made a line of kisses along the curve of her throat: “Was it good?  Tell me it felt good.”

“It was so good,” she said “so good.”  He pulled away from her and she wanted to wrap her arms around him and drag him back but she heard him fumbling with the laces of his breeches and she was suddenly afraid.  This was the point of no return, after this she would no longer be a maiden.

He seemed to sense her trepidation because his voice came out of the darkness then “You can still change your mind.  I meant what I said I do not mean to insist on my rights.”

Sansa steeled herself.  “I meant what I said too.  I want everyone to see that bloody sheet and repent at how they wronged me.”

He lowered himself down over her again but he did not kiss her and she could see his the whites of his eyes in the darkness.  She could feel him at her entrance, one of his hands between her legs, wrapped around his cock to help guide himself in.  He entered her slowly – a little at a time, seeming to pause and study her face before pushing in a little further and pausing again.  There was pain, pinching and burning and a strange feeling of being overwhelmed like he was too big, stretching her from the inside out, that this whole experience was too much.

“I’m all the way in.  Your maidenhead’s gone.  We can stop now.”

“But you haven’t- I mean-“ she struggled to find the words to talk about something she wasn’t meant to talk about.  “Bran said we need heirs for the North and I know that – well – you have to um-“

“I have to spill my seed inside of you.  You’re right.  I haven’t done that yet.  Truth is I won’t last much longer but that’s probably just as well for your first time.”  He withdrew from her and she wanted to cry out at the sudden feeling of emptiness, yet when he thrust back into her it seemed almost too much to bear; but he kept doing it.  She found herself clinging to his shoulders, pulling his lips closer to hers for a kiss, a kiss that never seemed to end as his thrusts intensified and he cried out into her mouth.  Then he buried his face in her hair, and she thought she heard him whisper the words “little bird.” Then he kissed her forehead and got up from the bed, tucking his cock away into his breeches and doing up his laces. 

“You have your bloody sheet now my lady; and my seed inside you.  We have both done our duty.” She heard him cross the room and settle down on the floor.  _He has gone back to his bedroll_.  Sansa could not believe it.  She almost bit through her lip in her effort not to cry.  _How could he kiss her and pleasure her and then leave her bed to sleep on the stone floor?  Had he not enjoyed it?  Had she done something wrong? She wished she had listened more carefully to Randa.  What had her Septa said?  Then it occurs to her.  Apart from kissing him she didn’t really do anything. She’d just laid there. He’d caressed her but she’d never thought to caress him in return. They hadn’t even undressed properly – she’d still been in her bed-gown and he’d still been in his long under-shirt and breeches.  She wondered what he looked like under his clothes._


	7. The Bloody Sheet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: rape is mentioned in this chapter in a conversation between Sansa and Arya.

The great hall was oddly silent when Arya came down to break her fast.  There was the usual clinking and clanking of bowls, mugs and crockery but there was little conversation.  When Arya entered the hall she saw everyone was trying to avoid looking at the wall opposite the hearth where a white sheet was hanging, its perfection marred by a bloodstain near the centre.  Arya felt sick.  “Bran!  You have to take that down.  It’s barbaric!”

Her brother looked down at her from the Lord’s seat at the high table.  Jon sat on one side of him; Sansa on the other.  Clegane and Rickon were nowhere to be seen. The Greatjon was sitting at Jon’s other side but it was Sansa who answered her.

“It stays where it is.” 

“Sansa it’s humiliating.”

“It shows everyone that I gave my maidenhead to my husband on our wedded night contrary to all the vile rumours that have been spread about me.  Some of them circulated by people in this hall.”

“Sansa!”

“Now Lady Arya.  Your sister must be allowed to have her way here, she makes a valid point and it is her honour at stake.”  Arya thought the Greatjon sounded almost amused.  Jon and Bran just looked mortified.  Having lost her appetite Arya abandoned any thought of breaking her fast and headed out into the yard where she found Sandor Clegane cutting a straw practice dummy to ribbons with his sword.

“You have to make her take it down.”

“I didn’t marry her so I could have her do my bidding.”

“You don’t mean to be like most husbands then?”

“That I don’t.”

“She shouldn’t care what other people think.  We all know the truth.  She shouldn’t have to humiliate herself.”

“You should talk to her.  Seems much as your brothers don’t like it they’re going to let her have her way.  I’m of the same mind.”

* * *

Arya seeks Sansa out later.  She finds her in the godswood in front of the heart tree.  Sansa’s eyes look red as if she has been crying.

“You should take the sheet down now.”

“No.  I want the whole Seven Kingdoms to hear about it.  To know that they wronged me.”

“Sansa, I’m sorry you didn’t get the good marriage father promised you.  I’m sorry that no high lords wanted you for their heirs.  Maybe you would rather have waited until one of the highborn infants they offered you - the offspring of their second sons - came of age.  But we all know the truth, everyone who loves you has always known the truth, what does the rest of Westeros matter?” 

“This isn’t just about me.  Sandor’s honour was called into question too.  Some of the rumours had me giving myself to him willingly but you must have heard... others said he forced me.  Would you want them saying Bran married me to the last man who raped me?”

“So this is all about him then?  To prove you never gave yourself to him and that he never forced you?  An attempt to salvage your honour and his before the rest of Westeros?  It’s got nothing to do with showing everyone that you should never have been forced to marry a man of such low birth; nothing to do with setting you up so you can make a good second marriage when he dies.”

“He’s not going to die!”

“All men die Sansa.  He’s much older than you and he’s already had a long life for a soldier.  He’s almost the same age father was when he died.”

“Shut up Arya!”  Sansa stormed out of the godswood, almost running away from her sister. 

To universal relief the bloody sheet had disappeared from the great hall by the time the evening meal was served.


	8. In which Sansa seeks out her brother Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to those who are reading this and especially to those leaving comments and kudos. Your encouragement is appreciated.

Sansa hated how Arya could still make her feel and act like a child. In the past her septa had often chided her for using such language with Arya.  _A true lady never tells anyone to shut up._

The worst thing was she was worried Arya had been right.  What if Sandor Clegane had thought she meant everyone to pity her because she had been married to him despite the fact she was untainted?  Or that she meant to set herself up for a more suitable second marriage?  The thought of him dying was even more unwelcome to her.  Surely she had lost enough, the gods wouldn’t take him too.  He was strong and healthy and in the prime of life.  _Just as your father was._ The words came into her mind unbidden and she pushed them away again.  _My mother and father had many years together, they had children.  But did they get to watch their children grow up?  Did they get to grow old together?  Did they live to see their grandchildren? And how many years did my mother have with Brandon Stark the man who should have been her husband?  None._ Sansa knew she had to dispel these thoughts.  So she set herself to a task she had been putting off and went to find her brother Jon.

He was sitting on his own in Bran’s solar – where they had often gathered as a family during their childhood.  He seemed to be reading, which was odd in him.  She supposed it was his friendship with Maester Samwell and his responsibilities as Lord Commander that had made him more bookish.  She certainly never remembered seeing him with a book outside his childhood lessons before.

“May I speak with you?”  He looked up from his book and smiled at her.

“Of course,” he gestured to an empty chair beside him in front of the fire.  Sansa sat.

“Do you still correspond with Queen Danerys?” Her question seemed to leave her brother oddly discomposed, he seemed almost guilty.  _What could Jon have to feel guilty about?_  

“Yes.  Since she and her dragons helped us vanquish the Others and stop the endless winter I have felt it important to maintain good relations between the Iron Throne and the Watch.”  _What an odd answer, as though he feels he needs to justify writing to the Queen._

“Next time you write to the Queen would you ask her not to be quite so indulgent towards Rickon and to suggest that she asks him to cease his visits to Kings Landing.”

“Sansa I am not in a position to make suggestions to the Queen, not even concerning my own brother.”

“Then write to Lord Tyrion.  He _is_ in the position to make suggestions to the Queen.”

“Why do you not write to him yourself?  You have some claim on him after all.  Or ask Bran or your husband to do it?”

“I am asking you to do it.  You know the Queen better than anyone in this family.  You fought beside her.   And if you prefer to write to Lord Tyrion _instead_ or _as well_ that would surely cause no comment.  You must correspond with both of them.”  Jon seemed about to argue, but stopped himself.  _So he does not write to the Hand so often as he writes to the Queen then._

“Sansa, what harm does the Queen’s kindness to Rickon do?”

“Rickon has been telling everyone he means to marry the Queen for the past two years.  Everyone thinks it sweet.  It’s not sweet.  It poses a danger to us all.  In five years he will be a man; and before that he will look like one.  Our brother was a King, married and dead before he reached his seventeenth name-day because of a foolish marriage.”

“Rickon’s tastes are like to change as he matures.  The Queen is ten years older than him and unlikely to consent to such a match, assuming she doesn't marry again in the meantime.”

“What if he doesn’t ask her consent?  What if he makes a wildling marriage?  Kidnaps the Queen as Prince Rhaegar once kidnapped our aunt?  The Crown would be at war with the Starks again.”

“Since Robert Baratheon died and the Targaryens returned there have been rumours that our...that my... that Lyanna went with the Prince willingly, that she loved him.”

“Any foolish girl can imagine herself in love with a prince, until he shows his true colours.  Do you imagine she still loved him after his father murdered her father and brother?” Sansa tastes the bitterness in her words.  The prince she had thought herself in love with took her father's head, if these rumours are true then her aunt's tragedy is close to her own.

“I imagine that you can love someone so much that nothing can alter your feelings.” Jon's voice is quiet, but Sansa's is harsh when she answers him.

“Then you’re a fool.” 


	9. In which Jon and Arya have a conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - this is an exceptionally short chapter.

Jon almost groans aloud when Arya joins him in the solar.  He has barely had time to collect himself since his conversation with Sansa.  If he tells his siblings the truth about his parentage how will they react?  Will they finally understand why he had to refuse to become Lord Stark?  For now only the Queen, Lord Howland Reed and himself know the truth.  He knows everyone will have to know soon - the Queen has made that clear -but he still keeps putting it off. 

“When do you leave for the wall?” Arya asks him, bouncing down into the chair that Sansa recently occupied.

“Tomorrow at dawn. I don’t like to be away, and it would be unwise to keep Maester Samwell away for too long.”

“I will visit you as soon as I can find someone suitable to escort me.”

“Clegane will still -”

“Jon.  They are just married!  I couldn’t ask him to leave Sansa so soon.  I hope you were watching him yesterday.  You must have been convinced. What about Sansa?  What did you think when you spoke with her before the wedding?”

“Arya.  Are you going to stop speaking long enough for me to answer you? I watched yesterday as I told you I would and I saw a man who couldn’t take his eyes off his new wife, and seemed oddly wary of touching her but that is not proof of love.  And for Sansa’s part I think she is ... not indifferent to him but I don’t know if she believes in love anymore.”

“Of course she does.  She’s _Sansa_.  She just hides it better.  I got her to take that disgusting sheet down by saying her insistence on displaying it implied she wasn’t happy about the marriage.”


	10. Dreams of Dragons

Bran awoke from a dream filled sleep.  The night was dark and he was thankful the fire left burning to warm his bedchamber still gave him enough light to see by.  He picked up the book next to his bed and wrote down his dream. 

He had started recording his dreams when he returned to Winterfell as he was beginning to find it difficult to keep track of them all. 

Sometimes he found his Green Dreams more a curse than a blessing.  The problem was that their meaning was often only clear in retrospect.  He thought of the first dream he had ever had concerning Sandor Clegane: a **shadow...dark as ash, with the terrible face of a hound.***   He had seen his sisters in the same dream. 

When he was away, in the Land of Always Winter, he had dreamed of a wolf and a scarred dog swimming through rivers, and running from a wedding before a wave of blood could drown them. 

Then he had dreamed of the same dog running with a different wolf by day and watching over her by night with a look of adoration in his eyes.  Neither of those dreams had he understood until Sansa had returned to the North in the company of Sandor Clegane. 

However, the presence of the human counterparts of the dog and the wolf in his home had only halted the dreams for a time. 

When it had been decided that it was time for Sansa to consider marrying again the wolf and dog dreams had resumed.  As Bran considered each insulting proposal that arrived by raven Summer would howl in the most distracting way.  Then the letter from Tyrion Lannister had come.  Bran had been scared to open it – if the Hand of the Queen wanted to take his sister to wife again how could he be refused?  But Lord Tyrion had pressed another man’s suit.  He had suggested Sandor Clegane as Sansa’s husband.  Then Arya had come to him and suggested the same thing.  Bran did not see how he could get such a proposal past the Council of Four but they agreed unanimously.  Yet still, he had hesitated until the night he dreamed of the dog being carried off by a dragon and leaving the wolf inconsolable (the wolf’s howls had been so heart-wrenching they had woken him up).  Once Bran was fully awake he became certain the marriage would have to take place soon, and he had spoken to Sandor Clegane and his sister that very morning. 

The night of Sansa’s wedding he had dreamed of a dog and a wolf curled up together asleep, and had felt a huge sense of relief.  However, his relief was short-lived.  For although that was the last time he had dreamed of the dog and the wolf; now he dreamed of Dragons.

Tonight he had dreamed of a small dragon with the eyes of a wolf clinging to Winterfell’s highest tower with his talons.  Five wolves were gathered in the main yard howling in sorrow as a larger dragon swooped in, caught the smaller dragon in its talons and carried it off towards the south.  As the smaller dragon was carried away it opened its mouth and howled like a wolf.

_Now what was that supposed to mean? He had no idea._

He put the book back on the table next to his bed and picked up one of two letters he had left there. 

Due to the first Dragon dream he had waited until Sansa’s marriage had taken place before he sent news of it to the South. 

He had sent a raven to Riverrun to his uncle Edmure who had sent back a short message congratulating the happy couple.  When he had read Edmure’s letter aloud to the Great Hall Sansa had only said sharply: “He may congratulate me on my marriage all he likes, I will never congratulate him on his.”  Sansa had never forgiven their uncle for continuing in his marriage to the woman she referred to only as ‘that Frey' so Bran knew he would have to reply to Edmure’s letter himself and soon.

But it was not his uncle's letter he now held, but the second letter.  The one he had received in response to the raven he sent the Queen.  A reply  written by the Queen’s Hand, Tyrion Lannister:

_Lord Stark,_

_I was pleased to receive your raven announcing the news of your sister’s marriage.  I sincerely wish Lady Sansa and Sandor Clegane every happiness._

_I feel it only fair to warn you that the Queen herself was initially displeased by the news as her assent to the match was not sought.   I pointed out to her that High Lords only need royal assent when making dynastic marriages - those intended to join great houses – so the marriage of Lady Sansa to a man sworn to house Stark is your business alone._

_We both intend to send gifts north for the happy couple._

_I will send a raven once our men depart for Winterfell._

_Tyrion of House Lannister, Hand of the Queen._

As Bran read the letter through once again, the Queen’s initial displeasure at the news of Sansa’s marriage made him think of the dream where the dragon had carried off the dog.  To his knowledge the Queen had only met Sandor Clegane once when he had visited the capital with Sansa two years previously.  Yet it seemed possible that the Queen had had plans for Sandor Clegane.  Plans that his marriage to Sansa had spoiled.  Plans her Hand was clearly unaware of, or possibly trying to subvert.

 _So, the Game of Thrones continues._   Bran thought.  _Will it never be over?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This is a direct quote from A Game of Thrones by GRRM


	11. Married Life

He didn’t trust himself to share a bed with her, who knew what he would do in those moments between sleeping and waking when he was not fully in control of himself.  So each night he laid his bedroll out on the floor while Sansa slept alone in their marriage bed. 

When Sansa tentatively suggested that they should be doing their duty to Bran by providing him with heirs.  Sandor made excuses –he told her she needed time to recover from her first time and that it was possible she was already with child and they should wait till they knew one way or the other.

One night he awoke suddenly and he lay still, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness while his ears sought the sound that had woken him.  Then he heard it, a stifled sob coming from the direction of the bed.

He slipped out of his bedroll and crossed the room to the bed. 

“What is it little bird?” he asked, the pet name slipping from the tip of its tongue before he could call it back.  “Did you have a nightmare?”  She’d had them in the past, when they had been travelling together away from the Vale and when she’d been forced to return to King’s Landing for her annulment.

“No.  I’m sorry my Lord.  I didn’t mean to wake you.  It’s just I had my moon blood today.”  He paused, unsure why that was something to cry about – she’d been having her moon blood every month for years now - and then it hit him.  She was disappointed she was not with child.  He could not allow himself to think about why that might be.  “Are you angry with me?  That I am not like my mother?”  It was well known that Lady Catelyn had conceived Robb the night she wed Lord Eddard Stark.

“Of course not.  We have not even been married for a full turn of the moon.  There is plenty of time for children.”

“Sandor?  I’m cold.  Will you sleep beside me tonight to keep me warm like you used to on our journey from the Vale?”

Sandor Clegane climbed onto the bed and lay down beside his wife.  He was careful to lie on top of the covers.

* * *

He must be so cold sleeping on the floor every night.  Sansa wished she had no pride left.  If she had had no pride she would have ordered a straw pallet for him or even arranged for a separate room but she couldn’t bear for anyone to know her marriage was a failure, that her husband would rather sleep on the cold stone floor than share her bed.

It had surprised her how overwhelmed with sadness she felt when her moon blood came.  Sandor had not touched her again after that first night and she wanted him to touch her so badly.  There was a terrible ache low down in her belly.  It felt like hunger, but she knew enough to know it wasn’t.

When Sandor had suggested she might be with child she had seized on that hope.  How happy everyone would be if she had a son.  Bran would have his heir; and surely carrying his child would bring her and Sandor closer.  She suspected he liked children although he had never said so.  She remembered the day of Joffrey’s nameday all those years ago when he had indulgently supported Tommen and Myrcella in their efforts to prevail over their Kingly brother; and he was always so good with Rickon.

What if her husband never touched her again and she had missed her only chance to have his son? She told herself she was being ridiculous.  Bran had made it clear he wanted them to have children.  Sandor would do his duty to his liege lord.

* * *

Sansa needed to talk to someone so she went to the maester in desperation.  After-all he would be the one to deliver any children they might have, he should know the most about how they were made and he was not likely to gossip as the women would if she asked one of them.

“It is early days yet my Lady.  Your mother’s experience is uncommon.  Most women do not conceive on their wedded night.”

“My husband and I are both eager to begin our family Maester.  Is there anything we can do to increase our chances?”

“I have heard it said that a woman’s pleasure in the act increases the likelihood of conception my lady.”

“Pleasure?”

“Yes it is possible for a woman to peak in much the way that a man does.  Has your husband?”

“Yes, yes.  He has shown me that.” Sansa looked down at her hands, blushing.  “He has pleased me but I do not think I have pleased him.”

“My Lady, are you saying that he does not find release with you?”

“He does.” Sansa asserted hastily hoping that she was not betraying her ignorance to the maester – after all her knowledge of the marital act was as yet based on one occurrence.

“It’s just he does not seem to enjoy it; and I am so innocent I do not know how to touch him; how to...” _make him want me as I want him._ She will never have the courage to say that out loud.

“I am so sorry My Lady.  I have been remiss in my duties I should have spoken to you before your wedding.”

“If you had I wouldn’t have known what to ask.”  Then it hits her.  He did not speak to her before the wedding because he did not see the need to.  He has believed all the foul stories about her.  He believes Lord Baelish has already taught her all she needs to know to please a man.  Likely he thinks Sandor had her a hundred times on the journey between the Vale and Winterfell and that their wedding has been Bran’s way of salvaging something from the ruins of her reputation.  She wants to yell at him and send him back to the Citadel but instead she asks him a question.  "Will you speak to me now, and tell me what I need to know?"

 


	12. The Seduction of Sandor Clegane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has sex in it.

Sandor has just come off first watch.  These are the best nights.  When he gets back to their room the little bird will already be asleep.  Only on nights like this can he stand beside the bed and watch her sleep before he retires to his bedroll.  She looks so peaceful when she sleeps, he likes to see her like that.  It makes him wish she had had the life she deserved.  That she had never known sadness or pain and that he had never contributed to her sorrows.

He opens the door to their room, steps inside and closes the door softly behind him so as not to wake her.  The room is lighter than it should be.  The fire is burning high and there are candles.  More candles than there usually are.  Sansa must still be awake, perhaps she is reading.

“Bolt the door.”  Her voice comes from the bed and he turns to do so automatically.  When he turns back Sansa is standing beside the bed, naked as her nameday.  His throat goes dry.  He tries to look away but he cannot.  His eyes take in her creamy skin, her perfect breasts, her flat stomach, her long perfect legs.  He is so hard he could take her now.  He wants his breeches gone.  He wants to lose himself inside her, be the man she deserves.  “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

He has become good at inventing reasons why not, why they shouldn’t but nothing comes to him.

“You’re beautiful.”  He doesn’t know where the words came from, but they seem to please her well enough because she smiles.

“It must be my turn then.”

“Turn?”

“My turn to see you.”  She steps closer and begins helping him off with his light armour just as she did on their wedded night.  Then she begins unlacing his breeches while he divests himself of his undershirt.  He is so hard she can’t unlace him without brushing his cock.  _Gods he hasn’t even touched her yet._   Finally his breeches fall to the floor and Sansa takes a step back.  He steps forward and out of them, leaving them on the floor.  She is looking at him now.  Her eyes linger on the muscles in his arms and shoulders and he thinks on his cock.  He reminds himself it is probably just curiosity. She is still a maid really, he’s only had her once and he didn’t trouble to show her his cock first.  Curiosity would be a natural response.  She doesn’t move except for her eyes, she doesn’t speak so neither does he.  He stands there and watches her watching him.  Finally she breaks the silence.

“Do you want to touch me?”

“Yes.”  The answer springs from his lips before his brain can censor it or call it back so he moderates it instead, “is that what you want, for me to touch you?”

“Yes.”

“Then come here.”  He stays perfectly still as she walks towards him until she is close enough to touch, “now turn your back to me.” She does as he asks and he reaches out and strokes the length of her loose copper hair tucking it behind her right ear and then guiding its waves across her neck and over her left shoulder.  Then he pulls her towards him, holding her flush against his muscled chest, she gasps at the feeling of his cock pressed into her lower back.  He brings his arms around her until his hands are resting on her stomach and makes a trail of kisses across the top of her right shoulder until he reaches her neck and then he pauses and looks down at her perfect body.  He begins to move his hands then – he resists the impulse to go straight down and moves his hands upwards instead caressing the skin of her belly until he reaches her breasts which he cups in his hands, before squeezing them and grazing his thumbs over her nipples.  He hears a soft moan escape her lips.  He smiles, he can’t help it.  He lets his hands drift lower now, caressing her belly again before he reaches the place between her thighs.  As his fingers make contact with the sensitive nub of flesh she gasps.  His fingers linger there rubbing and stroking and her breathing is coming faster.  He runs another finger around her opening, feeling her wetness and is rewarded with another moan and when he enters her with that finger he feels a shudder pass through her body.

“Do you want me to do more than touch you Sansa?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you want.”  He knows what words he wants to hear but can’t imagine her saying them.

“I want you inside me.”

“One of my fingers is inside you right now.”

“I want more.”  He adds a second finger to the first and is rewarded with another gasp.

“Like that?”

“No,” she sounds almost cross he and likes that.  She has been so courteous and polite to him since they married but what he likes is to see is the wolf underneath.  He values her gentleness and her kindness but he values the things she hides from everyone else even more.  The things she would rather people didn’t see: her strength, her spirit, the flashes of temper and those rare moments when she unthinkingly challenges people with her words. “I want your manhood inside me where your fingers are now,” she finally says, it is not quite what he wanted to hear but it’s close enough and delightfully specific.

“Then that’s what I will give you.”  He feels her body relax against him as though she had been holding herself tense before.  _Did she really think I would refuse her?_ He stills his fingers and removes them, stepping away from her, planning to scoop her up and carry her to the bed.  But she turns to him and before he can react her hand is on the back of his neck and her lips are on his.  Though her lips are soft, the kiss is hard and hungry and he submits to it.  He has never been much for kissing but if a kiss is what Sansa wants he will give it to her.  When she finally pulls away he is dizzy and short of breath and thinking that kissing is not so over-rated after all.  Then she is kissing her way down his chest towards his nipples.  As she opens her mouth to suck on his nipples he nearly tells her not to bother – men’s nipples are pointless and useless as far as he is concerned and then he changes his mind again because when she sucks on his nipple a jolt of pleasure travels from there to his groin.  It is his turn to gasp.  She continues to suck and caress his nipple with her tongue and the sensation has changed – less intense and still pleasurable but there is an undercurrent of pain to it too and his other nipple is starting to ache for her attentions.  Finally she shifts her mouth to the other nipple and he is rewarded with the same initial jolt.

“Gods Sansa let me give you what you want.”

She raises her mouth from his nipple. “What about what you want?  You haven’t told me what you want?”

“I want you to fuck me.”  These are the words he wanted from her earlier.  She laughs.

“Isn’t it usually the man who does the fucking and the woman who gets fucked?” He’s never heard her say the work fuck before; and that quick wit of hers has picked up the fact the words got turned around in his head, but maybe they weren’t turned around at all because he knows what he wants.

“Not always, let me show you.”  He takes her hand and leads her to the bed.  He lies down on his back, Holding his cock so it rest against his stomach.  “Now straddle me.”  She climbs onto the bed and does so.  “When we do it this way – you control everything: the depth, the speed, the angle.  You’ll like it like this.”

Sansa looked troubled “But I’ve never, I mean I don’t know how... what if I do it wrong...shouldn’t we wait till I’ve had more experience.”

He laughs. “You asked me what I wanted.  This is what I want.”  He gets her to raise herself up on her knees, lines his cock up with her entrance and gets her to lower herself slowly and carefully until he is fully sheathed inside her.  Her eyes are wide.

“Does it hurt?” he asks and she shakes her head in response.  He reaches out to place his hands on her hips but she pushes them away and begins to slowly raise and lower herself so his cock is sliding in and out of her wetness.  He lets his hands fall grasping the bedding with them as they contract into fists. Then she settles and reaches for his hands placing them where he had originally meant to put them.  He shows her how to move her hips and she does.  She gets into a rhythm moving faster and faster and it feels amazing.  He can’t take his eyes off her.  Her eyes are closed, her head tilted back, her breasts moving in time with her.  Then her rhythm stutters and falters, she seems to be adjusting her position, adjusting the angle before she tries moving again.  Then she falters again and he wants to cry out in frustration.  She adjusts herself again, circling her hips and when she starts moving again it is everything he could wish for and he loses himself in her, becoming a stranger to everything except the sensations that emanate from the place where their bodies are joined.

“Please,” she says suddenly, and he is called back to himself.  He looks up into her face and finds her eyes on him, ‘please, I can’t...O gods.”  He suddenly realises what she wants, he reaches down with his hand to the place their bodies are joined and brushes her sensitive nub with his thumb once, twice and then he feels the explosion.  He feels her climax along every inch of his cock and she almost collapses on top of him.  There is kissing and he is trying desperately to thrust up into her.  He needs more, finally he flips her onto her back and lets his desire take over.  In his lust filled haze Sansa seems to be calling out instructions to him.  He can make out the words “harder” and “faster” and “don’t stop” and “more.” When he feels her explode around him again he gives in to his own climax.  He is careful not to collapse on Sansa bracing his arms against the mattress so they take most of his weight, but he cannot resist resting his head between her breasts where he can hear the frantic beating of her heart.  One of her hands is playing with his hair, brushing it back from his scarred face.

“Did I please you?”  She asks and he is at a loss as to what to reply.  How can he tell this slip of a girl that she just gave him the best sex of his life? So he settles for the simple one word answer.

“Yes.”  It is the truth but it seems an inadequate response. “You pleased me very much.”  He raises his head and props himself up on his elbows so he can look into her eyes.  “Did you enjoy it?”

He watches the blush rise in her face as she lowers her eyes from his.  “Randa Royce told me a woman might find pleasure in the marriage bed but I never really believed it might be possible until our wedded night.  After tonight I know she told me true. I have tasted its pleasure myself and I want more.”  _What did she mean more?_   He wasn’t sure he was capable of giving her more tonight.

She lifted her eyes to look at him again and when he tries to turn his face away she raises her hands to his face, resting one on each cheek.  “I want you to stop this foolishness of sleeping on the floor.  I want you to sleep every night in our marriage bed, and just so there’s no doubt, I want your manhood hard and buried deep inside me.  I want to give you pleasure and children.  Now it’s your turn.  Tell me what you want.”

He knows exactly what he wants from her.  The words which he has been holding inside so long are clawing at his throat desperate to get out but he knows better than to say them.  He can be satisfied with this – she wants him and that is more than he has ever let himself hope for.

“I want you to tell me the truth.  I want to share your bed.  I want to give you pleasure and children.”  He stopped himself there – that was enough.


	13. The Day After.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone for reading.  
> This chapter has masturbation, sex and a non-graphic discussion of marital rape. Please let me know if there is anything else you feel needs a warning.

Sansa awakens with a smile on her lips.  She is naked and alone under the covers.  Her husband must have risen early as usual and gone out to drill the garrison.  She feels an ache low down in her belly.  How is that even possible?  After what they did last night, that she should desire him again so soon?  For the first time she thinks she understands Randa Royce – to be introduced to such sensations on her wedded night only to have her husband die – no wonder she had gone in search of satisfaction with others.

But not all men were the same.  If Sansa had married Joffery, Petyr, Harry or some stranger - or if Tyrion had made her his wife in truth - she knew she couldn’t have enjoyed being with them in such a way.  Whenever Randa’s stories had left her wondering what it would be like to be with a man intimately it had always been Sandor Clegane she pictured. 

Now that he is her husband she wonders if it would be safe to allow herself to love him.  She knows her feelings for him, has known them for a long time but she has kept them buried deep within her heart, telling herself that giving into her them will bring her nothing but pain. Sandor Clegane is not the type of man to believe in love and since King's Landing Sansa has been trying to stop believing in it.  She had accepted that she was destined to marry for the honour of her house and that the man she desired would never be considered a suitable husband. 

However, she had failed to account for the damage to her reputation.  Clearly that had brought her low enough for Sandor Clegane.  She had never thought she would be grateful for those foul rumours but she is now, because they have brought her the only husband she has ever wanted.  _He wants me too and I will try to make him love me._

Gods, just thinking about him intensifies the ache in her core.  She lowers her hand to the place where her thighs meet and lightly rubs her sensitive flesh the way he does.  Her caresses take the edge off her desire but she longs for a climax like those he gives her but it seems to be something she is incapable of giving herself, even when she eases first one finger and then a second into her woman’s place.  She tries to imagine the fingers are his as she pushes them in deeper and strokes herself harder.  The feelings of pleasure intensify but she aches for release and it continues to hover just out of reach.  She sighs, removes her fingers and gets up to start her day.

* * *

All morning his sensitized nipples have been rubbing against the rough-spun cloth of his under shirt.  The frisson of pain and the echo of pleasure generated by this action are making him increasingly uncomfortable. 

He knows he should be walking round with a smile a league wide today.  Last night he had the best sex of his life and slept curled up with his beautiful wife.  But what he feels is irritable, rubbed raw by desire.  He should have known last night was a mistake.  One night of passion has broken through every defense he created to control and suppress his physical desire for Sansa Stark.  Now that he has lain with her once he wants more, much more, too much. 

That morning he resisted the desire to wake her before he left their bed so he could take her again, and now he is suffering for his restraint.  He can’t stop thinking about her naked body, the feeling of her sweet cunt wrapped around his cock, the shattering explosion of her climax.  His cock is aching and desperate for attention.  He eventually decides his day will not improve until he goes back to his chamber and takes himself in hand. 

He meets no-one on his way.  The family’s sleeping quarters are generally deserted at this time of day and he walks briskly, eager to get it over with.  After last night he knows there will be no pleasure in the task only an empty release.  He should try to find a softer undershirt too.

As soon as he enters his room he throws the bolt and begins unlacing his breeches loosening them enough so that he can slip a hand inside.

Then he comes face to face with the pitfalls of sharing your room with another.  His wife is sitting on the bed and has turned to look at him.  There is no way to hide what he is doing but his hand stills none the less.

Sansa stands up and crosses over to him.  She finishes unlacing his breeches.  Then she leans in closer, bringing her lips to the ruin of his ear.

“What do you want?” she whispers.

“I want to fuck you.”

“Then do it.”

He spins her around and pushes her up against the wall beside the door and lifts her skirts to waist level, pushing her small clothes to one side.  He lingers just long enough to be sure she is wet and then he lifts her and thrusts into her, sheathing himself fully with one smooth stroke.  “Wrap your legs around me.”  He instructs as he pounds into her deeper and deeper. “O gods Sansa you’re perfect.  You’re so fucking perfect.”  He can feel her arms wrap around him holding him close.  “Say my name Sansa,” he begs.

“San-dor,” she says hesitantly. 

“Say it when I come inside you.”  He is close now, he knows he is so close.  Finally he feels his cock pulse inside her.  He hears Sansa almost gasp out his name and he stills, resting his head on her shoulder.

It is then that he realises what he has done.  He has taken his lady, his wife up against a wall like a man takes a back alley whore or a kitchen wench.  He has taken advantage of her innocence and failed to show her the respect that is her due.  He knew this would happen if he ever let down his guard, if he gave in to his desire for her.  He tries to pull away but she is clinging to him.  Her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck, his cock softening inside her.  He is ashamed.  He hasn’t even kissed her or spared a thought for her pleasure.  His desire for her has overwhelmed everything else. When he looks into her face she looks dazed.

* * *

 _He really does want me_.  Sansa thinks and she feels a little thrill zing through her body.  _He wouldn’t have taken me like that if he hadn’t been overwhelmed by his own desire._   He’d even paid her another compliment.  Two compliments in two days.  If he went on like this she might soon have to use the fingers on both hands to keep track of them.  Last night she had been ‘beautiful’ and today she was ‘perfect.’  She wondered if he would like her to say his name when she came with his manhood deep inside her.  She liked it when he said her name.  He obviously didn’t think he had to address her as ‘my lady’ or ‘Lady Sansa’ in their bedroom.

She loosened one arm from around his neck and reached up to touch his hair, brushing it back from his face.  She liked playing with his hair but she wished she could plait it back from his face so she could see him better.  She felt as though the curtain of his hair was always between them.  It hurt her that he still felt the need to conceal his scars – was he ashamed of them she wondered or just self conscious?  She moved her free hand from his hair to caress his scars lightly.

“Sansa.  I’m so sorry.  I should not have taken you that way.”

 _Gods, he has some silly notion in his head again_.  She sighed inwardly.  She had waited a month to get him off that bedroll and into her bed, she was not going to see him go back there. “Why?  I liked it and so did you.”  She had liked it.  She hadn’t come but she had felt desired and it had eased the ache that seemed to have taken up residence in her core since their wedded night.

He looks away from her and she becomes fascinated by the muscles in his neck as he swallows and seems to steel himself to give her unpleasant news.  “What I did... the way we...It’s not right for a man to take his wife that way.”

“Why not?”

“It’s the way a man takes a back alley sally or a serving wench.”  It suddenly irritates her that he is not looking at her and she takes his chin in her hand, pinching it as she pulls him to look her in the face.

“So that’s how you took your wenches and whores is it?”

“Sometimes.”

“Did your wenches and whores fuck you like I fucked you last night?”  To think she had never even said the word ‘fuck’ until last night.  _The things that marriage did to you._

“Never.”

“Do you intend to be having more wenches and whores now that we’re married?”

“No. I would never.”

“Then don’t ever mention whores or wenches to me again.  I am your wife.  I don’t care how you fuck me as long as it’s me you’re fucking.  You start whoring or wenching, you dishonour me and my house.”  She leaned in and touched her lips to his “Now carry me to the bed, get me out of this dress and this time I’ll say your name when I come.”

* * *

This time they take it slow.  He removes her dress and then her small clothes slowly kissing each portion of exposed skin.  When she is fully naked he begins by running his fingers through her hair and then he kisses and caresses his way down her body until he reaches her toes.  He takes each perfect toe into his mouth and sucks on it gently.  Gods she is a feast.  When she tries to touch him in return he pushes her hands away, tells her he has had his pleasure and this is all for her, as if he isn’t enjoying it as much as she is.

Then he kisses his way slowly back up her body to her breasts.  He is grateful for his previous release as he can take his time with her now without his desperate need to be inside her getting in the way.  He cups her breasts in his hands, bringing one nipple after another to his mouth.  Sansa is breathing hard now, arching up to him, almost writhing beneath him.  He feels the shudder that passes through her body as she tilts her hips and her sweet cunt comes into contact with his hard cock.

He kisses his way down her body to the place between her legs and he uses his mouth and his fingers to bring her to the edge of her release.  When he pulls away she moans and whimpers begging him to return but instead he lines himself up at her entrance and plunges into her.  Keeping up a steady pace he moves in and out, in and out.  Sansa is begging him to move faster but he maintains his pace and when he finally brings her over the edge he knows from the way it feels and the way she reacts that it is the best yet.  His eyes are fixed on her when she comes.

Her eyes are impossibly blue, her skin flushed, and her mouth is wide as she gasps and moans his name.  He can feel her hands digging into his buttocks as though to force him deeper.  When she finally goes over the edge she sinks her teeth into his shoulder to stop herself from crying out.  He picks up his pace thrusting into her through her spasms, intensifying them and sending her over the edge again and again until finally he has to give into his own release.

Afterwards, he lies on his back on the other side of the bed, his head turned towards her.  She is splayed out on her side of the bed and she has never looked so relaxed not even in her sleep.

“Gods, you know what you’re doing don’t you?” She is still almost breathless.

“Hmmm.  Not that your encouragement wasn’t appreciated but sometimes the slower the build up the more intense the release.”

“Is it going to keep on like this?  Is every time going to be better than the last?”

He laughs in response “I can’t say as I know girl.  But I’d think that would be hard to beat.”

“Did you like it then?”

He laughs again “Trust me girl, anything that involves you and me, naked in our bed I’m going to like.”

* * *

Sansa glances over at him then, he sounds almost happy. 

“You shouldn’t call me ‘girl’ you know.  I am a woman grown, six years flowered and your wife besides.”

“What should I call you then?”

“I like it when you say my name, and you can call me little bird if you like, you used to call me that before.”  He is still naked so she can see his muscles tense, she should have remembered he hates taking about before. 

When he found her in the Vale he spoke about the promise he made to her in Kings Landing but never about the night he’d made it.  She does not want him to distance himself from her again so she closes the physical distance between them by reaching out to caress the muscles of his chest with delicate fingers.  In Kings Landing she saw statues with less impressive musculature.  This is only the second time she has really had a chance to look at him.  There is a terrible scar on one of his thighs where a great deal of flesh has been cut away – that must be the legacy of the wound that had almost cost him his life when Arya left him to die at the Trident.  The rest of his scars are scratches by comparison with this one and the burn scars on his face and arm. 

“Sansa, what are you doing?”

“Touching you, admiring you, wanting you,” she answers before closing her mouth over his right nipple.

* * *

He doesn’t think his sensitized nipples can take her attentions but to his surprise the sensation is the same curious mixture of discomfort and pleasure he felt yesterday and has his cock hard again in half a heartbeat.  He should have realized that just as his bad mood today was caused by his desire for his wife, his sensitive nipples were also longing for her attentions.

In no time at all he is begging her not to stop and holding her head to his chest with one hand, losing himself in the sensation and then he feels Sansa’s hand brush against his cock.  It is the first time she has touched it properly and he takes his other hand down to give her some guidance, show her how she should hold it, help her get into a rhythm.  It doesn’t take him long to realise he could easily come like this but that’s not want he wants.  He releases her head and begs her to move her mouth to the other side and she complies, paying the same attentions to his left nipple and undoing him completely.

“Sansa, please I need to be inside you.  Take me inside you.  Tell me you want it.” He is begging her now.

“I want it,” she says before straddling him and taking him into her.

“I want you to come for me Sansa.  Guide my cock into the right spot.”  He feels her adjust herself on him and there are more of those stop-start movements that make him want to growl in frustration.  But when she finds the right angle she settles into a perfect rhythm and he tries to concentrate on keeping himself under control.  Holding himself back from the looming precipice of his own release so she can find hers.  Her breath is coming faster, then she is gasping.

“Please, O please,” and he reaches his hand down and rubs his thumb over the cluster of nerves above her entrance once, twice, three times before she explodes and he lets himself go and follows her.  She collapses on top of him and he wraps his arms around her, pulling her close.

“Gods Sansa you fuck me good,” he murmurs before they both collapse into sleep.

When he wakes the room is dark and he realises they have missed the whole afternoon.  Their absence will have been noticed but no one has come looking for them.  He suspects that is Arya’s doing.  He is grateful he hasn’t missed anything important, he always has things to do around the castle but there was nothing pressing today and Arya is likely to have trained the young boys in his place.  She does this often enough that her doing so today won’t cause comment.  However he knows Bran is likely to call for him tomorrow and remind him of his duties.  He doesn’t want Bran to think he is one of those men he has always despised, men who marry into a Lord’s family and then loaf around of no use to anyone.  He owes Bran for giving him the deepest desire of his heart – marrying him to the little bird and he does not intend to let him down.

He feels Sansa shift in his arms, and he looks down at her nestled into his chest.  She smiles at him as she wakes and he feels the yearning in the centre of his chest.  The gap in his own being that waits for her love to fill it.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks sweetly. 

“That I should find us something to eat.”  He answers and his stomach growls as though to back up his lie.

“I am hungry,” she says.  Then she looks around the room, her eyes grow wide and she sits up and gives a slight wince.  “It’s dark.”

“It’s night.”

“You mean we’ve slept away the whole afternoon and missed dinner in the Great Hall?”

“If you recall we did more than sleep.”

“I do,” she smiles again and there is a red tinge to her cheeks.  He kisses her lightly, gets out of bed and pulls on his discarded breaches and tunic. 

“I’ll go down to the kitchens and find some food for us.  I know where Osha hides the left overs.”

The smile freezes on Sansa’s face.  “Gods Sandor.  We were both absent for the whole afternoon and the evening meal.  Everyone will know what we were doing, how will I face them?”

He sits back down on the bed and reaches out a hand to brush her cheek.  “No, everyone will suspect what we were doing, people might rib me about it but no one will dare say a word to you.  We are still newlyweds after-all, this kind of behaviour is almost expected of us.  There is no shame in a man-” he was going to say ‘fucking’ but the word sticks in his throat “making love to his wife.  Now I’m off to get us something to eat.”

When he opens the door he finds that he has no need to go to the kitchens as food is waiting for them.  A covered tray is sitting on the floor in front of their door.  He picks it up and balances it in one hand while he recloses and relocks the door.  Then he carries it over to the bed and sets it down beside Sansa, removing the cover.  There is a flask of wine and two goblets, a loaf of bread, a large wedge of cheese and several apples with a note from Arya that says: “I thought you two might need something to eat.”

Sansa picks up Arya’s note and folds, unfolds and refolds it nervously as though something about it troubles her.  It bothers him that she and Arya aren’t closer.  She missed Arya so much during the years they were separated, she used to cling to his stories of Arya in the Riverlands and his belief that Arya was still alive, and yet now Arya is back - has been back for two years - there is still a barrier between them and it is not on Arya’s side.   He knows they disagreed about him in the beginning – with Arya wanting him gone and Sansa defending him.  But he and Arya eventually worked things out and they get on well enough now.  His position at Winterfell cannot be the reason for their continuing estrangement.

He cuts Sansa a slice of bread which he covers with slices of cheese and apple before handing it to her.  Then he pours them both a goblet of wine and cuts slices of bread, cheese and apple for himself.  Then he sits back to watch her eat.  He loves to watch her, for years it has been his principle diversion.  Watching her walk towards him, walk away from him, watching her eat, everything she does is beautiful.  She is sitting oddly, as though she is uncomfortable.

“Sansa, are you hurt?” She blushes and shakes her head a little and a horrible suspicion enters his mind.  “Sansa, did I hurt you?”

“No my Lord-”

“I am not a fucking Lord!” His fear and shame come out as anger as they still do all too often.

“You are my Lord Husband and I will call you my Lord if I choose,” she snaps back. “And no you did not hurt me.  I am just a little chafed I think.”

“Gods Sansa it was too much, too fast you should have told me no.”

“I didn’t want to tell you no.  I wanted it just as much as you did.  You know I did.  I didn’t even feel sore until I woke up.  Truth is part of me almost thinks I could ignore the discomfort and take you again.”

“No Sansa.  We over-did things. You need time to recover.”

“You’re hard again, I can tell.”

“Just because I’m hard doesn’t mean you’re obligated to do something about it.”

“My Septa told me a lady does not turn down her lord unless she has her moon blood.” 

“Your Septa gave you some fool advice girl and that’s the worst of it.  I’m not the kind of man who wants a woman to lie with him when it’s going to cause her pain or because she feels she has to.  I don’t want to hurt you ever.  Every time we lie together I want you to want it as much as I do and if you don’t want it, you tell me no – do you hear me?  You tell me no! There’s a word for men who take women against their will, men who force a woman and I won’t be one of those men.”

“But a husband can’t do that to his wife.  He has the right to-”

“You know better than that girl.  You know there are men who hurt their wives, you’ve met them.  No matter your sense of duty you could never have given yourself willingly to Joff.  I could see how he made your skin crawl.  If you’d had to marry him-”

Sansa burst into tears.

“Gods Sansa I’m so sorry, I should never have mentioned-” His anger gone, he reaches for her and pulls her into his arms.  To his surprise she allows it.

“No, you’re right.  If I’d married him every night it would have felt like he was-” she shudders. “I’m sorry Sandor.  I was thinking only about us and how you would never do that, never hurt me.  I’m lucky Bran chose you to be my husband.   And stop calling me girl.”


	14. A delayed honeymoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there is more sex in this chapter. The plot is on holiday for a bit but do not despair it will be back!

Sandor receives the expected summons to see Lord Stark the following morning so he makes his way to Bran’s solar.  When he arrives Bran is staring down at the table which he uses as his desk.  _He can’t even look me in the eye._ Sandor feels more uncomfortable than he expected to.  _Ah, the difficulty of having a teenage boy as your Lord and good-brother._

“I apologise for absenting myself from duty yesterday afternoon Lord Stark.  It will not happen again.”

Bran clears his throat.  “You were missed, but we managed without you.  Arya saw to training the boys.  She also told me that it is customary in Bravos, when a couple is newly married to give them some time to themselves away from duties and the like to... err...get to know one another as husband and wife.  Arya feels that I have perhaps been remiss in not allowing you and Sansa some time to yourselves.  She suggests a fortnight?”

“Thank you, my Lord, but that might seem too generous, perhaps a sennight?”

“Very well. A sennight then.  Arya and I have discussed it and we think you and Sansa should relocate to the Lord’s chambers.  They have a privy, a closet and a small receiving room as well as two bedrooms and would give you the opportunity to be private together.  I am unlikely to ever use them as I prefer to sleep downstairs.”

“If you were to marry, your lady might-”

“I will not marry.”

“The Lady Meera-” Bran raises his eyes to him then, and gives him a sharp look.  He never wants to discuss the Lady Meera.  Usually Arya is the only one who needles him about it.

“What about Rickon?”

“I somehow doubt the Dragon Queen will want to set up house with him here.  She already has two castles of her own and is not fond of the cold.  The rooms are yours.”

“You should speak to your sister.”

“As her husband the decision is yours.”

“I did not marry your sister to rule over her.  The decision is hers.”

 Bran raises his eyes to look at him again.  “You are an odd man Sandor Clegane; a man with a reputation for harshness and brutality who abandoned the most powerful family in Westeros to serve an orphaned girl, her brothers and her sister.  Who served us faithfully, and asked for nothing in return.  A man who defers to his wife.  If I had married my sister to another man in your position he would be making demands of me by now – seeking lands and titles worthy of my sister.”

“I do not seek anything else my Lord.  To be married to your sister is honour enough.  I only seek to be worthy of her.”

“There are those who would say you are more than worthy.  You saved her life and Arya’s too.  Rickon looks upon you as a father and you have helped me hold the North.”

“The name Stark and the loyalty of your bannermen helped you hold the North.  I have only done what was required of me by my oath.”

“An oath you swore to my sister, not to me.”

“I have known Lady Sansa for a long time my lord.”

“And how long have you loved her?”

It is Sandor’s turn to lower his gaze.  He is conscious that Bran did not ask him _if_ he loves her.    _Fucking Greenseer._   “A long time my Lord.”

“Yet you never asked me for her hand?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I hoped she might find the husband she deserved. Your sister was not meant for the likes of me, she was supposed to be Queen.”

“She is your queen of love and beauty is she not? I think the regard of a kind husband matters more to a woman than titles or jewels.  Does she have any idea of the depth of your feelings?”

“None, my Lord.”

“Will you not tell her now that she is your wife?”

“I will not.”  Sandor risks a glance at Bran Stark and the boy’s surprise is evident in his face, so he tries to explain.  “Your sister is kind.  If I told her such a thing she would say it back and I will not have her to lie to me.”

“Are you certain it would be a lie?”

“Look at me Lord Stark.  Your sister is the most beautiful woman in Westeros, I am disfigured, lowborn and sixteen years older than her.”

“I think you do my sister a disservice Commander.  She has learned to her cost that a handsome face can conceal the darkest of natures.  You do not love her solely for her beauty do you?”

“No.”  If anyone was to ask him what he loves about Sansa Stark he could give them a very long list.

* * *

For a sennight Sandor and Sansa are excused from any and all tasks and have no obligation to attend meals in the great hall. 

They move their things from Sansa’s rooms to her parents’ old suite and arrange it to suit them.  They share a bed at night but do no more than sleep in each others’ arms.  Trained to rise early he wakes up before her every morning and slips out of bed and into one of the other rooms to take himself in hand to take the edge off his desire.  When he is done he slips back into bed beside his wife.

Sansa tells him stories about growing up in Winterfell.  She tells him how Jon found the direwolf pups, how Bran loved to climb, how Arya had always wanted to be in the yard with the boys, and how they had all looked up to Robb.  Occasionally she forgets herself and even mentions the Greyjoy boy; Sandor had almost forgotten the boy had been raised with them like a brother.  Of all the betrayals the Starks have faced he imagined that one had hurt the most.  _Fucking Greyjoys._

Sansa also busies herself going through his clothes.  Tossing some out, mending others, making a list of what else she thinks he needs.  He tells her not to bother but she insists.  She even tidies up the tunic Arya made him for their wedding so the arm holes are the same size and the hems even, he asks her not to change the embroidery though, and she doesn’t.  So now he has a much more wearable tunic which still bears Arya’s three roughly embroidered dogs on the front.  When Arya sees him wearing it she laughs and accuses him of being sentimental.

On the third day Sansa announces they are to go for a picnic in the Wolfswood.  Eating outside always reminds him of being on campaign, he sees nothing special or romantic in it but it costs him nothing to oblige her so they ride off together deep into the Wolfswood with a basket of food from the kitchens.

After they have eaten he lies back on the blanket and she settles next to him.  Gods _he will never get tired of being this close to her._   Sansa lifts her hand and runs her fingers through his hair.  He is enjoying the feeling of her caress when she shifts position to whisper in his ear.  “I want you inside me.  I want you to make me come.”  His cock twitches in his breeches and he wonders how quickly they can get back to the castle.  He moves as if to get up but Sansa stays him. “No.  Now.  Here.”

“Someone could see us.”

“I’m not saying we should strip naked.  Just lift my skirts and take me.  My pain is gone now and it’s been _days_.  I need release.  I’ve heard you in the mornings taking yourself in hand and finding your own. I’ve tried to use my hand on myself and it feels good but I can’t make myself come like I do with you.  Please Sandor don’t make me wait any longer.”  His head is spinning.  The idea of Sansa touching herself.  The desperation in her voice.  He can’t deny her.

“I’ll use my hand under your skirts – give you your release.  Then when we get back to Winterfell I’ll make you come again and again I promise.” 

She sighs and lies back.  He looks around and the Wolfswood seems quiet and deserted. He places his hand on her ankle and slides it up her leg to her thigh trying to keep the rest of her skirt pulled down as much as possible to conceal his ministrations.  He slides his hand under her small clothes and begins to explore her folds.  She is wet for him and he hears her breathing change in response to his touch.  Her skin is so soft and slick and sensitive.  Her passion is still a revelation to him.  He never imagined that she would be so eager for his touch, that she would long for the joining of their bodies as much as he does.  He slides a finger inside her and Sansa raises her hips and begins to move in rhythm with his strokes. 

“More,” she gasps, “more.”  He adds another finger, and then a third still using his thumb to massage the sensitive nub at her entrance.

“Now Sandor, take me now,” she is begging him in that desperate voice of hers and his resistance crumbles.  He withdraws his hand from her cunt and tears at the lacings on his breeches, setting his cock free, then he rips her small clothes aside and thrusts into her.  Deep and hard.  Sansa lets out a cry of pleasure and he feels her wrap her legs around his hips to take him deeper, as deep as he can go.  She is hanging onto his shoulders as he thrusts into her madly unable to hold anything back.

“My little bird, my wife, my Sansa come for me.  Please come. I can’t hold on.”

“I’m close, so close.  Use your hand.  Gods Sandor use your hand on me.” He does and her release comes almost immediately, as does his own. Her cry of ultimate release and satisfaction is so loud it startles some birds in the trees near-by into flight. The intensity of his own release leaves him dazed.  He can’t believe he just fucked Sansa Stark in the Wolfswood when he hadn’t meant to let things go that far.  He can deny her nothing it seems.  He looks into her face and she is smiling up at him, her gaze totally clear.

“Well you got what you wanted,” he comments wryly.

“I did.  Did you?”

“I think you should be able to tell by now little bird.”

“O I can.  I love it when you lose control like that.  It makes me feel desirable.”

“You’re always desirable.” 

A troubled look comes into her eyes and she bites her lip.  “Is it normal, for me to want you the way I do?  As much as I do? It doesn’t make you think I’m wanton or-”

“I don’t know if it’s normal.  I never had a wife before.  But I like it.  I think any husband would want his wife to desire him.”

Sansa’s face relaxes and he shifts, meaning to withdraw from her so they can straighten their clothing.  She reaches up a hand to stop him.

“Don’t be in such a hurry, I like feeling you there.” She pushes his hair back from his face and begins to caress the scarred side.

“Do they still cause you pain?”

“No.”

“Can you feel it when I touch them?”

“Not really. I appreciate you making the effort though.  They can’t feel any better than they look.”

“They don’t feel good or bad, just different.  You know most of the time I don’t even see them anymore.”

He snorts at that.  “Spare me your empty courtesies wife.  A kind lie is still a lie.”

“No I mean it.  Maybe I am not explaining it well.  I don’t mean they’re invisible or anything like that I mean that I don’t really notice them.  When I look at you I just see you, and yes you have scars on your face, just like you have arms and legs and ... shoulders.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmmm, and hands and lips and ... well ... other parts.”  She pulls him down for a kiss.

“Is that what you call it now, other parts?”

She shifts beneath him.  “Mmmm, maybe.” She is rubbing herself against him. “Mmmm, Sandor that feels good.  I can feel you getting harder inside me.  Take me again, please but slower this time.” 

 


	15. After the honeymoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is more sex in this chapter.

In the weeks following their sennight without duties Sandor feels as though he is living in a dream.  He spends time with Lord Stark, drills the garrison, trains Rickon with arms, spars with Arya and attends to his regular tasks about the castle and Wintertown as usual; but he feels like he is viewing everyone and everything through a haze.  The haze of his intimacy with Sansa. 

Arya has tried to raise the subject with him several times but he has managed to resist her attempts to discuss it.

“How are you and Sansa enjoying married life?” she asks the first time.

“It seems to suit us well enough.”

The next day it is: “Have you told her yet?” to which he answers “Told her what?”

The following day she tries: “Does Sansa love you?” to which he replies “Ask her yourself?”  Arya groans in frustration before she answers “I have and _she_ won’t tell me anything either.”

He’d believed himself happy these past years since finding Sansa in the Vale and coming home with her to Winterfell but he realises now what he’d been was content.  He’d been close to her, he’d kept her safe, he’d gained the trust of her remaining family and the Northern Lords.  She’d come to trust him and rely on him and turn to him when she was in distress.  And the man he’d become on the Quiet Isle had been up to these challenges, had been able to treat her with the respect and care she was due and would never cross the line as he had in King’s Landing because he’d accepted both his feelings for her and the knowledge she would never be his. 

When Lord Stark had proposed their marriage he had known he should say no, that in saying yes he would risk everything: his own peace, Sansa’s regard for him, and the home he had found at Winterfell but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to refuse.  If Lord Stark was going to give him the opportunity to wed the only woman he wanted he had to take the chance.  He had decided to maintain a respectful distance between himself and his wife though, conscious that Sansa had suffered so much at the hands of men - many of whom had sought to marry or to otherwise possess her.  It would take her time to learn to know and trust him as a husband.

He had never imagined that Sansa in her innocence should grow impatient with the distance between them and take action to end it.  That her hunger for him should match his for her almost exactly.  That she would be so sensitive to the stimulation his cock or his hands or his mouth could give that she came for him again and again and again.

In the past he had treated his need for sex like his need for food and drink and satisfied it with gold.  He’d bought a whore and used her for what he needed. He’d never had a regular bed warmer or a favourite whore.  He waited until the need was upon him and sought release.

Since he’d left the Quiet Isle he’d pretty much lived like a monk when it came to women.  When he had been bringing Sansa north he’d been perfectly chaste, at Winterfell he had resisted the whores of Wintertown and the lure of kitchen wenches and wildlings because he didn’t want it to get back to the Starks – they were children after all.  Once on a trip to White Harbour without any Starks in his company he had ventured secretly to a brothel but he’d felt guilty afterward.  It felt wrong to lie with one woman when you loved another.  It felt dishonourable, so he hadn’t tried it again.

He found it hard to believe the same man who had gone years without a woman, struggled to last a day without Sansa.  His desire for her was overwhelming.  Sometimes he would make his way to their rooms in the middle of the day and find her there restless and waiting for him.  Those were their most passionate couplings.  They bolted the door and tore at each other’s clothes to get access to what they wanted.  Once she’d taken his dagger to the lacings on his breeches because the cord had knotted and she couldn’t wait a moment longer. 

He’d been surprised when she’d got her moon blood again.  He’d been sure her womb would quicken from all the seed he’d sowed inside her.  She had not cried this time nor seemed upset.  She had only apologised to him for the fact they wouldn’t be able to lie together for a while.  She’d seemed surprised when he’d been content to kiss her and fall asleep holding her close in his arms.

The night after her moon blood finished they’d returned to their usual habits.  They’d indulged in an urgent, passionate almost desperate coupling and afterwards he had shifted to pull out of her.

“No not yet.  I like to feel you there.  I’ve missed it.” She’d said so he’d moved to lie over her again still resting his weight on his arms.  He felt her hips shift slightly against him and his cock beginning to harden again and he shifted his own hips slightly in rhythm with hers.  His cock was even harder now, hard enough to thrust and part of him wanted to but most of him was strangely hypnotised by this slow languid movement.  By the way their two bodies were pressed together and moving together –he pressed soft kisses to her face and she returned him.  She brought her legs up and wrapped them round his hips.

“O Sandor,” she breathed “if you try to pull out of me now I think I might die.”

“It feels good doesn’t it?”

“O yes.  It’s like I can feel every inch of you inside me.  O Sandor, O gods, O O O.”  Her climax spread outward like a ripple through a pool of water, carrying him with her.


	16. A nightmare that leads to a misunderstanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Sansa has a nightmare in this chapter which contains acts of physical and verbal violence - most graphically a flogging. 
> 
> This chapter also has sex (it's hard to believe I had never written a sex scene before I started writing this FanFic!)
> 
> Thanks to all who are reading and those who are leaving comments & kudos. Sorry I haven't replied to everyone's comments - sometimes I don't know what to say.

_Sansa is sitting on a high-backed wooden chair on a raised platform.  Joffery is sitting in a similar chair beside her.  A golden crown on his golden head, smiling through his worm lips.  Their hands are linked, resting on the chair arms that separate their bodies.  It is not a gesture of intimacy but another way he has found to torment her.  He likes to squeeze her hand so tightly that the small, bird-like bones inside grind together in agony._

_“Bring forth the Queen’s champion!” Joff belows, giving her a triumphant smile.  The crowd gathered in front of them parts and a man is brought forth between two Kingsguard Knights.  His long dark hair hides his face and he wears nothing but a pair of grey breeches slung low on his hips but she knows who it is.  She recognises him by his height, the breadth of his shoulders, his perfectly muscled torso.  The two knights bring him to stand directly in front of her and Joff._

_“Dog! Take your rightful place and kneel in the dirt at my feet!” Joff commands and Sandor Clegane obeys him.  Moving with surprising grace for such a big man. He bows his head low so he is staring at the dirt “Your Grace.”  He says and then swivels in her direction, raising his grey eyes to her face for just a moment before lowering his head and almost whispering “Your Grace.”_

_“Did I say you could address the Queen Dog?”_

_“No Your Grace.  Then remember why you’re here!”  Joff is scowling now.  Sansa does not understand what is going on Joff has always been fond of Sandor Clegane, if he can be said to be fond of anyone._

_“Do you know why you’re here Sandor Clegane?” Lord Varys steps forward._

_“I am accused of being overly familiar with Her Majesty Queen Sansa.”  He says in a flat voice._

_“No! “ Joff interrupts and he seems about to say something else but Lord Varys is trying to control the situation._

_“May I be allowed to question the prisoner Your Grace?  Or do you wish to do it yourself?”_

_"You may proceed" Joff sits back in his chair and everyone falls silent until Lord Varys continues._

_“Sandor Clegane – why did the Queen ask you to be her champion at the tourney held in honour of her name-day?”_

_“Because she wanted her champion to win.”  There is some laughter from the crowd at that._

_“Did you request a favour of the Queen to wear at the Tourney.”_

_“No.  She bestowed one on me when I said I would be her champion.”_

_“Why did you accept the Queen’s offer?”_

_“Because I am – I was \- Kingsguard.  My role was to serve the Queen.”_

_“Your role was to serve me!” Joff couldn’t help himself from interrupting again. “That’s why it is called the Kingsguard!”_

_“Thank you Your Grace.  You make an important point.” Lord Varys murmurs before continuing “And what did you do when you won the Queen’s Tourney?”_

_“I crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty.”_

_“And what made you do that?”_

_“Every member of the Kingsguard knows that there is never any woman more beautiful than the Queen.”_

_“Disobedient Dog!  Didn’t I tell you not to crown her?  Didn’t I give you instructions not to crown her?”_

_Sandor Clegane looks up right into the King’s face and his grey eyes are full of loathing.  “Yes you did.  You told me to go to the area where the commons were gathered and crown your whore Queen of Love and Beauty instead!”  Sansa’s free hand flies to her mouth and she can hear some gasps from the crowd._

_“And why did you not do as your King commanded?” Varys’s voice is quiet._

_“In public?  At the Queen’s own tourney?  As her own champion?  It would have dishonoured her!”_

_“Are you saying you did not dishonour her when you took her to your bed?” Joff interrupts again, there are more gasps from the crowd.  Lord Varys purses his lips._

_“The Queen is great lady of virtue and honour conscious of what is due to Your Grace and herself.  She would not allow the likes of me to lay hands on her.”  Sandor Clegane says and Sansa knows he is lying. She looks down at his large hands where they rest in the dirt and she remembers those hands touching her in places that are not permitted to anyone but her husband and she knows she allowed it. In fact her body aches with longing to have him touch her again.  She does not long for her husband’s touches that way._

_“You are saying you have no intimate knowledge of the Queen?”  Lord Varys asks._

_“None.”_

_“Prepare the prisoner.”  The same two Kingsguard knights come forward and pull Sandor to his feet.  Sansa does not understand what they are doing as they tie his hands together to a ring at the top of a post that stands in the centre of the clear area in front of the platform where she sits with the King.  Then she sees the whip in Ser Meryn’s hand and she gasps._

_“I think I might strike the first blow.”  Joff announces, a sadistic little smile on his face.  She can hear Varys twittering, trying to talk him out of it perhaps.  She doubts Joff has ever used a whip of this kind. Varys is probably worried he will end up humiliating himself and take his bad temper out on all of them._

_Sansa is relieved Joff has released her hand though.  She shakes it a couple of times trying to restore her circulation and looks up, straight into the grey eyes of Sandor Clegane.  How long he has been watching her she cannot say.  The look in his eyes now would be enough to condemn them both if it was observed.  His lips move, he is trying to tell her something!  She concentrates on every movement as he repeats himself again and again.  She eventually realises he is saying “Don’t admit to anything and don’t look.” But by then it has already started.  Joff lands the first few strokes himself before handing the whip back to Ser Meryn and joining her on the dais.  She is sitting on her hands now so he will not be able to reclaim the one nearest to him._

_Ser Meryn gets into a rhythm, two blows, then a question, two blows then a question, two blows and a question.  The question never varies: ‘Have you fucked the Queen?” The answer never varies either, a simple “no.”  Sansa flinches with every blow and every time the question is uttered.  What must everyone gathered here think of her now?  Sansa closes her eyes and all she can hear is the sound of the whip hissing through the air, making contact with Sandor’s flesh, and the grunt of pain that escapes him._

_“Stop!”  It is Joff’s voice and Sansa’s eyes snap open hoping that it is over.  “Dog!  You know me too well to believe I’ll spare your life but confess and I promise a quick death, for you and the Queen both.  If I have to beat a confession from you you’ll die in agony from your wounds and before you do I’ll make you watch what I do to punish her and it won’t be pretty.  Confess now, it is your only chance.”_

_“I have nothing to confess.”  Sandor Clegane says.  The side of his back that she can see is cut to ribbons, and his blood is dripping onto the ground.  Blood has sprayed across Ser Meryn’s face and his white armour.  Sansa feels ill, her stomach clenching with nausea.  She stands as Ser Meryn raises the whip again._

_“Stop.”  She says and turns to Joff.  “This man has never dishonoured me.  The only man here who has dishonoured me is you.  You hurt me and have others hurt me in your name!  You flaunt your whores in front of me!  You murdered my family and took joy in it! And now you torture my champion in front of me.  I will take your offer.  I will confess.  I love Sandor Clegane.  Do you hear me?  I love him!  And I’m willing to die for it.  I love him and only him!  Not you and never you!”_

_Joff smiles at her in triumph.  “I made him the offer.  Not you.  Ser Meryn continue!”  Sansa starts screaming then and she knows she will never stop.  She is screaming “Stop!  No!  You’re hurting him!  I love him! Stop.”  Over and over again.  She is fighting to get to him but strong hands are restraining her._

* * *

Sansa is kicking and flailing in bed in the grip of some nightmare.  She is screaming and struggling as Sandor tries to catch hold of her, so he can calm her, gently wake her.  Then the words register “Stop!  No!  You’re hurting him!  I love him! Stop.”  She is dreaming of some lost love then, and the thought is a claw digging into his chest.  He wonders who the boy is or was.  She is sobbing now, clutching his hands instead of fighting him off “Please don’t hurt him.  I love him.”  She sobs over and over.  His heart breaks for her and for himself as well.  Her eyes are open he can make out the whites in the half-light of their bed chamber.  He doesn’t think she even recognises him. Then her breath comes out in a sigh.

“Oh it’s you.”

“Yes little bird it’s me, you were just having a nightmare.”  He goes to take her in his arms but she pushes him away, her hands roving over his torso, not in an erotic way, but in the manner of a maester checking for injuries.  Then she nudges him over until he rolls onto his other side so his back is to her and she begins running her hands over his back in the same fashion.

He can hear her repeating softly to herself “He’s dead. He’s dead. It was just a dream.  It was just a dream.” Then she starts touching his back in an entirely new way, and he can feel her lips on his flesh as she kisses her way down his spine, and her hand snakes over his hip to massage his cock and his body responds.  _Gods, she is going to use me to forget about him and I’m going to let her._

“Roll onto your back.”  She whispers and he does so.  She comes up to straddle him but doesn’t take him into her body right away.  Instead she rubs her folds along the length of his cock again and again _.  Trying to get aroused_ he thinks _all that terror can’t have been very arousing._   He knows he should help her with his fingers but he feels oddly distant from her.  He can’t stop himself from wondering who this boy is, if he is alive or dead. 

She guides his cock inside her and begins to move her hips as he has taught her.  He wonders if she is imagining what it would be like to be in the dark like this with the boy she loves. 

* * *

She wonders if her husband is awake enough for this.  His manhood is definitely awake, filling her to her limits as it usually does but Sandor is oddly silent.  He has not moved to kiss her or even to touch her.  She leans forward and down to kiss him.  She feels his body tense and she has the oddest feeling that he almost turns his head away from her to deny her his lips but changes his mind at the last minute.  He sighs into her mouth when their lips meet and the usual urgency is missing from his kisses. 

“I’m close,” she whispers into his mouth and she is, she can feel the pressure building.  “You’ll need to use those magic hands of yours soon.”  She feels his hand snake its way done between their two bodies to the place where she needs it, and just a few strokes from his skilled fingers take her over the edge. 

She knows a little about his preferences now.  He enjoys having her on top but he finds it hard to reach his own climax in that position so she is ready for it when he flips her onto her back.  Usually by this stage in their love making he is desperate for his own release and thrusting into her hard and fast but tonight is different because he is moving in and out of her agonizingly slowly and she marvels at his control as this is something they usually don’t attempt until the second or third round.  She shivers in anticipation of what she knows is to come.  The agony of the slow build.  The intensity of the climax that follows.  She hopes they can both hold on long enough.  They don’t always make it as sometimes they are powerless to resist their desire for a faster pace.  Tonight his control is perfect and he reduces her to a writhing, desperate mass of need before fulfilling it completely.  Her body is still tingling with aftershocks as she lies beneath him.  He is moving more quickly inside her now, taking himself towards his own climax.  She is full of him, feels nothing but the echo of her climax and the frisson of his movements.  He has given her so much tonight, she wants to give him something in return.  He’s been so quiet too.  Usually his words urge her towards her climax as if he needs it as much as he does.  Tonight she wants to feel him come.  The way she feels now, the pulse of him, the rush of his seed might even be enough to make her come again.

“Please, O please my love.  Come for me now.  I want to feel it.”  It is the first time she has used an endearment with him.  To her surprise his whole body seems to tense above her and the delightful feelings of fullness and frisson disappear.  He rolls off her and over until his back to her.  She is stunned.  He has never just stopped like this, although he offered to on their wedded night. 

“I – I - Did I – what happened?”

“Nothing.  I’m just tired is all.  I need to get some sleep.  You shouldn’t expect much when you wake an old man in the middle of the night.”

“You’re not old.”

“I’m too old and tired to argue with you.  Get some sleep.”  She reaches out her hand and rests it on his side but he shrugs it off.

“Can you just stay on your own side of the bed tonight?” She pulls her hand back as if she's been stung.  Every night since they agreed to share a bed they have slept cuddled up together.  Why would tonight be any different?  What has she done wrong?  Maybe it was the endearment.   He has never asked her for soft words.  All he’s ever asked her for is  his name and she suddenly realizes she didn't say it once tonight.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter - there is a touch of plot and more sex.

Sansa wakes up alone.  She feels ill – likely due to her disrupted sleep.  The memory of her nightmare is hazy, except for one detail: Joffrey.  Even in the light of morning she can’t think of being married to him without shuddering.  No wonder her distress had woken Sandor. Then she had sought comfort from her true husband but.... She doesn’t want to think about it, of what it could mean.  She tries to stamp on the thought before it can form.  _He is beginning to tire of me._   She remembers someone telling her – maybe it was Randa Royce - that men like variety.  Even her Septa had told her that a lady could not expect her husband to be faithful. _But he promised me. He promised me._ She hates thinking about him with other women, hates the women before her, and knows she will hate the women to come even more. _I understand how my mother felt, faced with the evidence of my father’s infidelity every day. I wish she were here_.  _I don’t know how to do this, how to be married. All I know about it I learnt from watching my parents as a child, from a Septa before I was 12, and from that conversation with the Maester.  There has to be more to marriage than this endless wanting._ Sandor feels so far away from her sometimes _.  A man should talk to his wife.  He talks to Arya more than he talks to me._

* * *

After morning training Sandor is summoned to Lord Stark’s solar.  Bran is sitting behind the table a message on the table-top before him.

“This arrived by raven this morning.  Lord Manderly has asked me to visit him in White Harbour.  He says his health no longer allows him to travel to Winterfell to take part in the Council of Four.”

“Can’t the fat man be content with sending a raven?  Must he needs drag you all the way to White Harbour?”  Sandor protests and Bran giggles, sounding much younger than his fourteen years for a moment until he puts on his Lord’s voice

“Lord Wyman has always been a great friend to House Stark, and we _both_ owe him a great deal for the pressure he put on the Faith to grant Sansa’s annulment.”

“You’ll be wanting me to go with you?”

“I know you don’t want to leave Sansa but if I take only you and Arya we can travel at speed.  Sansa can sit the Lord’s seat in my stead.”

* * *

When Sandor returns to their room that evening he knows he should tell Sansa that he is going away but he is too nervous about what her reaction will be.  _Will she be happy or disappointed?_  Whatever it is, he won’t be able to cope with it when he still feels so raw after last night _.  Fool, pulling away from her because she was imagining you were someone else, she probably imagines someone else every time. No, not every time.  She calls my name.  She touches my face._

* * *

She feels herself blush when he makes the suggestion.

“But how is that fun for you?” She asks trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.  He is tired of her, he is, otherwise he would never suggest this.

“Trust me I’ll enjoy watching you.” He gives her a toothy grin, “and after I’ve watched I’ll definitely want to do some touching.”

She blushes again.  The thought of him watching is embarrassing, but she likes the thought of him touching.  Also, if he is tiring of her, she may need to know what he is about to teach her.

“Lie down little bird,” his raspy voice is tantalisingly close to her ear.  “I’m going to teach you to make yourself chirp.”

Sansa lies back on the bed and closes her eyes. 

“Think of something arousing.” He instructs.  _Gods his voice is sexy_.  She thinks of his hands, his mouth, his muscled torso, his...

“Now start slow.” She feels the rough skin of his hand on hers as he moves her hand down to her woman’s place.  “You want the pleasure to build nice and slow.  Stroke yourself.”

“Do boys have to learn how to pleasure themselves?”

“Boys find it easy and their urges are seen as natural.  Girls’ bodies are more complex and no one encourages you to explore them.  By the time you’re married your husband’s likely to know more about a woman’s body than you do. What little ladies know gets taught to them by Septas who’ve never known a man and  Maesters who’ve never known a woman.”

“You certainly know how to please me.”

“Sansa, you need to concentrate on what you’re doing.”

“I am.  I’m concentrating on how arousing your voice is.  It’s helping.  It would help more if your mouth was closer to me.”

“You’re supposed to be doing this yourself.  Imagine that I’m whispering in your ear.”

“O gods.”

“Slow, Sansa,  go slow.  Don’t rush it.”

She can feel the pressure building, wants to move her hand faster but she resists.

“That’s it.  Wait.  You’ll know when you can’t take anymore.”

“Gods Sandor, just take me now.”

“You need to get there yourself.  The slower the build the bigger the reward.  Don’t be tempted to rush it.”

 She thrusts one finger inside and then a second while her other hand continues moving slowly across her sensitive nub.

Finally she can’t wait any longer, her hips are bucking and her hand is stroking faster and faster as her fingers curl into that sensitive spot deep inside her.

“Yes!”  She feels herself spasm around her fingers, the heat spreading through her body.  The tremors that ripple through her in the aftermath.

“Did you come?”

“Yes.”

“How did it feel?”

“Softer, less powerful than it is with you, but good.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“Your mouth, sucking on me.”

“Would you like that Sansa?”

“Yes.”  He lowers his mouth first to one nipple, then the other, then kisses his way down, down until he is exactly where he imagined him.  With his tongue, his lips, gently nibbling her with his teeth. He lavishes attention on her with his mouth and his hands. It doesn’t take long before she starts to feel it again, the building pressure.  The need.

“Stop.  I want to come when you’re inside me.  _Please_.”

He answers her by entering her body deep and hard.  Everything she wants.  She is overwhelmed by him. 

When she feels his hand move to her nub, she bats it away.  “No wait till you’re ready.  I want to come with you.”

“ O Sansa.”

His movements become more rapid as he approaches his climax.  Finally he rubs his thumb across her nub a fraction before he finds his own release.  She loves the sensation of his manhood pulsing inside her as her muscles spasm around him.

“Gods Sansa,” he moans, pulling out of her before she can tell him not to and resting his head on her belly. His head is turned to one side, she can see the good side of his face, and feel the ridges of his scars against the soft flesh of her tummy.  The sensation is not unpleasant.

She reaches down with one hand to stroke his hair.

 “Is being married what you expected?”

“I don’t know that I ever expected to be married.”

“It’s different from what I expected.”

“What?  No doubt you expected your husband to recite poetry for you.”  For some reason this comment pains her.

“Don’t worry.  I’d never expect poetry from you.  But ever since Joffery, whenever I thought of being married it seemed like something to be afraid of.  But I’m not afraid of you.”

“You shouldn’t be.  I’d never hurt you.”

“Thank you for agreeing to do it.  I know you didn’t want to marry me but I’d much rather be married to you than be married to some stranger and living far from Winterfell.”

“What makes you say I didn’t want to marry you?”

“Well, you’ve never wanted to be married; and you've had to take care of me for so many years already.”

“It hasn’t been a hardship.  Taking care of you.”

“Now that I’m your wife I’m supposed to take care of you too. Sandor, why don't you talk to me?”

“What about?”

“About what happened back in Kings Landing when-"

"I told you when I found you in the Vale that no good would come of talking of that."

"What about that night at the Gates of the Moon?”

”No.  We agreed that night we'd never speak of it again.”

“What can it hurt now?  You're my husband and you already know. Is that why you never ask me to-?”

“I won't talk about that Sansa.”

“Then tell me about your past.”

“You don’t want to hear about my past.”

“But I do.  You know almost everything about me. All the bad things I’ve done.”

“You haven’t done anything bad.”

“I killed Petyr and let you take the blame for it.  I killed my father.”

“Killing that Fucker wasn’t bad and you know I only took the blame so they wouldn’t take your head. And you didn’t kill Lord Eddard, you just trusted Cersei when you shouldn’t have –”

“After you’d warned me not to.  You told me they were all liars.”

“You didn’t know me then.  You had no reason to trust in my words.  This conversation stops now.  Go to sleep Sansa and leave the past where it belongs.”


	18. Chapter 18

The next day when Sansa overhears a conversation about her brother's forthcoming journey to White Harbour, she hastens to Bran’s solar.  She enters without knocking.  Bran looks up from the table he uses as a desk and smiles at her.

"I heard you're going on a trip."

“New spreads fast in this castle, or did your husband tell you?”

“I heard in the kitchens.  You are truly going to White Harbour with only Sandor and Arya to accompany you? Do you think that's wise?” 

“Travel is not as dangerous as it used to be and Sandor and Arya will keep me safe.  You will sit the Lord's seat in my stead.”

“If travel is so safe take me and leave Arya.”

“Sansa, you know I can’t leave Arya to sit the Lord’s seat. She is not exactly diplomatic.  I also value Arya’s skill with arms, and you are no good with a sword.  Even though Sandor did a good job teaching you to wield a dagger it is hardly an offensive weapon.  If we are challenged it's best I have my two most able warriors beside me.”

“Will you not even consider leaving me my husband?  We have been married such a short time.”

“Sansa – we are going to White Harbour not crossing the narrow sea!  If I leave one of them I will have to take half the garrison in his or her place, and our pace will be pathetically slow.  With just the three of us travelling we will be faster and likely back before you have the chance to miss us.  And the garrison are of more use here to defend the walls than they would be to me.   Lady Mormont is due to start her visit while I am away so you will have her for company.”

* * *

That night when they have retired to their chambers and Sansa raises the subject Sandor Clegane looks at his wife in confusion. “Of course I don’t want to leave you,” he says.

“Then refuse him.”

“Your brother is my Lord.  I have no power to refuse him.  This is a small thing he asks.”

“It’s a small thing to ask you to leave me?”

“Sansa, I don’t understand why you are being so difficult about this.”

“You will be gone at least two turns of the moon, maybe three.  Will you not take another woman to warm your bed during that whole time?”

“Sansa I swore to you no more whores, no more wenches remember – do you doubt my word?”

“What about highborns?  You made me no promises there.” 

He laughs. “Sansa, what are you thinking?  No highborn woman seeking a diversion ever looked to me for it.”

“Then you will swear to me?”

“Sansa, I swear to you that I will take no other woman be she highborn or lowborn to my bed as long as we are wed.”

“You don’t have to take them to bed to fuck them.  Swear to me you won’t fuck another woman.”

“Sansa, my beautiful and angry little wife, I swear to you that I will not fuck another woman be she highborn or lowborn for as long as we are wed.  Does that satisfy you?”

“It will have to as you will give me nothing else I have asked for.”

“Will you make me the same promise then?”

“Of course husband.  I swear to you that I will never fuck another woman as long as we are wed.  Does that promise satisfy you?”  She meant it to be flippant, but she can see from his face she has somehow pushed things too far.

“You know that is not what I meant.  Do you desire another man?  Who is it you imagine when my cock is inside you?  Tell me damn it!”

 Sansa is disgusted that he could think such a thing of her.  The truth is she finds his physical presence so powerful and overwhelming she can barely hold a thought in her head when his manhood is inside her apart from how good he feels.

“If that were true, why don't you explain to me why I just made you promise not to fuck anyone else!  If I wanted someone else why would I care who you fucked?   Maybe you just gave yourself away- who is it you think of when you’re buried in me?” 

 “No one Sansa.  Gods I’m sorry.  I just never expected you to want me-”

“Then maybe you would find it easier if I didn’t want you at all.  Take your things and get out!  Go back to your old chamber in the guardhouse.  I release you from your vow.  You’re free to fuck anyone you please and so am I.”

“Sansa, please – I meant that vow.  I have no wish to be released from it.  I didn’t mean to upset you.  Forgive me.”

“No.  Need I remind you that I am your lady as well as your wife.  You will gather your things and you will leave my chamber.”

“I will do as you command my lady.”  Sansa turns her back towards him while he gathers his things so he cannot see the tears in her eyes.


	19. Chapter 19

“Lady Arya! Lady Arya!”  Arya opens her eyes to find Osha leaning over her bed.  “You must come with me.  It’s Commander Clegane.”

“What is it?  Is my sister ill?”

“No milady.  It’s the commander.  I found him in the kitchens when I came down to light the fires.  He’s dead drunk milady.”

“Have you told my sister?”

“I went to their chambers milady and Lady Sansa refused to unbolt the door.  She told me that the Commander was no longer any concern of hers and that I should take him back to his old rooms in the guardhouse to sleep it off.”

“Gods Osha, what happened?”

“Raised voices were heard in their chamber last night.  No one is sure what was said but it seems your sister asked the Commander to take his things and go.”

“And he did?  The fool!”

“He did but he only got as far as the kitchens where he drank several flagons of vile wine that was only fit for cooking and passed out.”

“What is wrong with those two?  How do they not have more sense?  The whole castle will be talking about this soon.  Osha, you must try to get the Commander to sober up.  I will dress and come down to the kitchens directly.  We must get him out of the way first and then I will go to my sister.”

* * *

When Arya arrives in the kitchen Sandor is sitting by the fire wrapped in a blanket, judging from the sodden state of his clothing underneath the blanket and the empty buckets beside him Osha decided to sober him up by throwing buckets of water over him.  It is clear to Arya that he has been crying.  She wonders if Osha knows him well-enough to pick this up and suspects she does.

“What happened?”

“I fucked it up.  Always knew I would.”

“Then fix it.  Tell her you’re sorry.  Throw yourself on her mercy.”

“Already tried that.  Didn’t work.”

“Then wait till she calms down and try again.”

“No point.”

“Gods, you’re hopeless when you’re like this.  Help me gather your things and let’s get you to the guardhouse before everyone wakes up.  Then you can sleep it off.”

“Don’t want to sleep it off.  Need more wine.”

“That is the last thing you need.  Osha come help.”  They get him over to the guardhouse without running into anyone else.  Arya turns her back while Osha strips him down to his small clothes and wraps him in some more blankets.  He lies down on the bed quietly enough.  Arya puts his things away.  He has little enough.  It doesn’t take long.

“Thank you Osha,” Arya says quietly and the woman withdraws.  She crosses to the bed. “Tell me what happened?”

“We argued.”

“What about?”

“It doesn’t matter.  It hurts Arya.”

“Yes I can see that it does.”

“She loves someone else.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“How is that possible?  The two of you have barely been apart in the past four years.  If she’d fallen in love with someone else you would’ve noticed.”

“Maybe it happened before that.  Back in the Vale or in Kings Landing after I left her.”

“That was a long time ago.  You could make her forget him.”

* * *

“This time I’m not leaving until you let me in and I see you eat something.”  Arya is outside her sister’s door for the third time that day.  “I mean it Sansa.”  She hears the sound of the bolt sliding back and then her sister is there.  Red-eyed and peeping out at her.  “Did you sleep last night?”

“Not very well,” Sansa admits grudgingly, as she steps back and allows Arya to enter with a tray of food before closing the door again after her sister.

“He’s sleeping it off now in the guard house.  He’s a mess Sansa.  What happened?”

“We argued.”

“Really?  I never would have guessed.  What about?”

“I do not choose to discuss it.”

“Then how are you going to fix it?”

“It can’t be fixed Arya.”

“Sansa, you haven’t even been married three full turns of the moon.  Since that day you both vanished for the afternoon you’ve both seemed happy.  In fact he’s been the happiest I’ve ever seen him. Surely one argument isn’t enough to ruin it. Sansa, is there someone else?”

“Like you don’t know.”

“I don’t.  All I know is that Clegane thinks there is. He loves you Sansa.”

“He said that?”

“Not those exact words.  But we can all see it.  Why can’t you?”

“You all think you know him better than I do.  I’ve known him longer than any of you.  He doesn’t even believe in love!”

“No, he doesn’t let himself believe in it.  That’s a different thing.  Sansa, do you love him?”

“What do you think?  You seem to know everything.”

“I think yes.  So why don’t you tell him?”

“After everything that happened to me I resigned myself to living without love.  I knew marrying for love was not an option for me.  So I resolved not to feel it. Do you know what it’s like to love someone who doesn’t love you back?  I’ve seen it.  I saw it with Aunt Lysa – she would have done anything for Petyr – she murdered Jon Arryn for him.  She would have killed me - her own blood - because Petyr kissed me.”

“You are not Lysa Arryn. And if Sandor knew you loved him he would _so_ love you back.”

“So it’s Sandor now is it?”

“He’s my good-brother Sansa.  I can’t keep calling him Clegane.  It’d be like calling Jon ‘Snow’ or Bran and Rickon ‘Stark.’  It would be ridiculous.”

“I’ll bet it doesn’t bother him, you calling him Sandor.  He probably even asked you to do it.”

“Sansa?”

“Go away Arya.  You’ve seen my face.  You’ve brought me food.  You’ve talked to me about things that are none of your business. You can go now.”

* * *

“How did this happen?”  Bran asked shaking his head in confusion.  Maybe he had been misled by his wolf and dog dreams.  Maybe he had misunderstood them. Maybe he had picked the wrong wolf.  He looked at Arya in growing horror.  Had Clegane been meant for the other wolf – the wolf who was his friend not the wolf he loved?

“I don’t know.  They are both fools.” Arya snapped.  They were sitting in Bran’s solar as darkness descended on Winetrfell signalling the end of what had felt like a very long day.

“I’m sorry you had to see him like that Arya.  I don’t know what Osha was thinking.  She should have come to me when Sansa wouldn’t come.”

“Don’t worry about me.  I saw him drunk plenty when we travelled together in the Riverlands.  If there was any alcohol to be found he would get drunk on it.  From what little Sansa has said of it, he was drunk almost all the time in Kings Landing as well.  That was one of the things that surprised me most when I came back – how little he drinks now. ”

“He certainly made up for his years of moderation last night.”

“Trust me that was nothing.  He wasn’t even mean.  He’d been crying if you must know...and the look in his eyes...” Arya shuddered.  “Osha was right to come to me.  If she’d come to you you’d have put on your Lord’s voice and lectured him.  Told him his conduct was unacceptable and not to be repeated.”

“And I would have been right to do so.  His conduct was unacceptable both for my good-brother and the commander of my garrison.”

“He knows that already Bran.  You would have made him feel even worse.  He needed a little care and understanding.”

“I’m fond of him too you know.  I know how much we owe him.”

“Do you?”

“Of course.  Are you telling me I must say nothing to him about his behaviour?”

“In a few days you might put on your Lord’s voice and gently remind him how much we all rely on him and how much Rickon looks up to him.”

Bran laughs at this, “And so many people believe you have no talent for diplomacy.”

“I do not need to be diplomatic when I can counsel others to it.”

Bran cleared his throat, “You should know that I went to Sansa and offered to leave him behind as she asked me to yesterday.  A longer trip seemed worth the restoration of peace at Winterfell but she refused.  She said she wanted him gone.  All of us gone so she could be left in peace.”

“I guess we all go then.”

“Perhaps absence will make the heart grow fonder.”

“Bran there is no need for hearts to grow fonder in this case.  There is more of a need for heads to be banged together, but alas neither you nor I have the height required to bring it off.  Sandor is entirely too tall and Sansa is a formidable height for a woman.”  Bran laughed at the image of Arya who was small in stature even attempting such a task.

“So, is he awake yet?”

“Yes.  I had Osha take him some broth. We should think of a story to stop any gossip.”

“He was taken ill in the night and did not want to infect Sansa.”

“Bran, that’s just weak.”

“You think of something better then.”

“He has much to do to prepare for our trip to White Harbour and does not wish to disturb Sansa with his comings and goings.”


	20. Chapter 20

Sansa stood in the shadows at the edge of the yard looking at the entrance to Winterfell’s guardhouse.  She was feeling nauseous and head-achy from a combination of weeping and lack of sleep.  Her anger had faded though she still smarted at the insult Sandor had given her.  That her own husband could suspect she desired another man reminded her of the lies that had been spread about her virtue yet he had never believed those. 

In her anger she had pulled rank and ordered him to take his things and go and then she had said worse things.  She had told him that she intended to break her marriage vows and given him permission to do the same.

It had not taken her long to realize her foolishness.  The last thing she wanted was for him to break his vows and she had no intention of breaking hers.  She also saw that she could have remedied the situation easily if she had responded to Osha’s request this morning.  

Now Osha, Arya and Bran knew for certain that Sansa and her husband had fallen out and Sansa knew enough to imagine that rumors were swirling around the castle about why she and the Commander had not been seen all day and why he had spent the day asleep in old room in the guardhouse. 

Sansa knew she should go to him, he had apologized to her last night after all, though she had been too angry to hear it at the time.  Her conduct had been unacceptable in a lady and a wife. So why did she hesitate?  The longer she left it the harder it would be.  She had almost convinced herself to take a step when she observed a figure crossing the yard in the direction of the guardhouse.  It took her a moment to realize it was her sister. 

She saw Arya pause a moment in the centre of the yard and then quicken her steps and vanish into the shadows surrounding the guardhouse doorway.  _Why would Arya be visiting the guardhouse at night? Such conduct is not proper in a lady._ Sansa’s hand flew to her mouth because if she was honest it was not the thought of Sandor going to White Harbour that had alarmed her, it was the thought of him going to White Harbour with Arya.  _They can be together now_ , she thought, _I have given him permission to break his vows_. _Nonsense_ , Sansa chided herself, _it has barely been a day since we argued, Arya could just have been taking a message to someone.  But if she was taking a message she would have been back by now._ But the minutes passed and Arya did not reappear.  By the time Sansa retreated back into the castle her hands were blue from cold.

* * *

When Arya left Bran’s solar she decided to check on Sandor Clegane before turning in for the night.  When she arrived in his room he seemed to be deeply asleep.  As she built up the fire a soft whine came from under the bed and Shaggy Dog stuck his head out to give her a mournful look.  In the light from the fire, a dark shadow at the foot of Sandor's bed resolved itself into Rickon’s sleeping form. 

Arya shook her head.  Rickon was really too old for this but occasionally he reverted to his old habits, and would crawl into bed with her, Sansa, Bran or Osha.  Sandor Clegane had made it clear to Rickon early on that he would not tolerate him crawling into his bed so the boy had learnt to lie across the foot of the big man’s bed like a dog if that was where he chose to sleep.

“Making sure I haven’t found more wine to drown myself in?” Sandor Clegane’s raspy voice startles her.

“I thought you were asleep.  I just came to check on you.”

“And found your brother and his wolf as well.”

“How long has he been here?”

“Don’t know.  He wasn’t there last time I woke up.”

“How are you feeling?”  His only response is a snort.  “Can I get you anything?”

“More wine.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“Go back to sleep then.”  Arya sits down in a chair in front of the fire.

“It’s kind of creepy, you watching me sleep.”

“I’ve watched you sleep plenty of times – in the Riverlands, on our trips to the wall. It’s not like there’s much to see.  It’s dark.”

“On the road is different to your brother’s castle.  You’re of age now, a great lady, and sister to my wife besides, it isn’t seemly.”

“The sooner you go to sleep the sooner I’ll leave.”

Arya’s chair is turned towards the fire.  She is not looking at him in truth but staring into the flames.  He is silent so long she thinks he has fallen asleep but she can’t be bothered rousing herself.

“I’m sorry I hit you with that axe.” 

For a moment she wonders what axe but then she remembers.  She was so angry with him at the time. “You hit me with the **_flat_** **of the axe**.  If you’d hit me **with the blade there’d still be chunks of my head floating down the Green Fork.** ”*

“When you ran from me at The Twins I knew it would be the death of you and I panicked.  A better man would have known the right words to stop you, but I didn’t so I fell back on what I knew.  I saved your life with a blow to the head because I didn’t have the words.  I should never have spoken the way I did about your sister either.  It was never the way I made it sound.  You were just a little girl then, and she wasn’t much older.  I would never hurt her. ”

“Sansa and I stopped being children the day Joffery took our father’s head.  I was too young to understand what you meant when you said those things about Sansa but after I came back and saw you with her I knew – I realized you’d told me you were in love with her.”

“Don’t fucking romanticise it!  Your father would have killed me with his own hands if he knew the thoughts I had about your sister.”

“Whatever thoughts you had about her then you never acted on them.  At least not until you were married.  Sansa cares for you, she does.”

“Yes, as she _cares_ for every person at Winterfell. Do you know why I was so desperate to save your life that night at The Twins?”

“I think so.”

“Because you were all I had of _her_.  If I couldn’t save _her_ I could at least save her sister.  That’s why I forced you to keep going when you would have died in the dirt you were so sick with mourning for your mother and brother.  Do you know why I’d attack trees with that stupid axe?  Because I was thinking of what she’d do when she heard what had happened.  I thought she’d kill herself from grief – she nearly pushed Joff from the battlements and planned to jump after him when she lost your father.  I was the one to stop her.  Who was there to stop her with me gone?” His voice broke then and Shaggy Dog moved out from under the bed and tried to climb up on the bed with him.  For awhile the room was full of the noise of a wolf whining, licking exposed flesh and being gently dissuaded from climbing on to a bed that was way too small to contain a large man, an 11 year-old boy and a fully-grown direwolf. “Why didn’t you give me the gift of mercy when I asked for it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was it because you hated me and wanted me to suffer or because you were beginning to like me a little?”

“Does any of it matter if I love you like a brother now?”

“What would you do if I asked you for mercy now?  Not as Arya Stark but as a former servant of the Many-Faced God?”

“I’d tell you I would prefer you to let you live, stupid.”

* * *

When Arya awoke she was still sitting in the chair, it was dark, the fire had gone out and Bran was in front of her.  He was being carried by Hodor and was not yet dressed for the day, wearing only a robe over his sleeping shift.

“Bran what are you doing here?”

“Osha woke me and told me you weren’t in your room.  You should go back there now.”

“Will you ask Rickon to return to his room too?”

“It’s odd for Rickon to sleep here, but acceptable.  It’s not acceptable for you to do so.  Return to your room Arya before the castle wakes.”

Once Arya had gone  Bran woke Rickon and sent him and Shaggy Dog to the kitchens to see Osha for an early morning snack. 

So, when Sandor wakes it is the young lord Stark who is sitting in the chair in front of the dead fire.

“You need to pull yourself together.  We rely on you.  Both Arya and Rickon spent the night in your room last night.  Rickon does as he will, but you cannot allow Arya to do so again.  Tonight when you retire to bed you will bolt your door.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The words in bold are direct quotes from GRRM's "A Storm of Swords"


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a sex scene in this chapter.

He has avoided her presence for a week now, busying himself making everything ready for the trip to White Harbour. 

He has only glimpsed Sansa as she moves through the castle but he cannot stay away from her tonight.  He takes his meal in the Great Hall but shuns his empty place at the top table.  Instead he sits below the salt in the place that gives him the best view of her.  He does not eat but watches her eat.  He drinks her in.  This is the last he will see of her for some time and he does not want to forget a thing. 

Sansa concentrates on her food.  She does not look up at him but she must know he is there.  She exchanges words with her brothers, her sister, and the maester.  He is too far away to hear her voice and he longs to.

She rises and he sees her slip out of the room before the meal is over and he cannot stop himself from following.

When he exits the Great Hall he can see her moving away down the corridor.

“Sansa!”  She doesn’t stop.  “My Lady?”  She slows, pauses and turns.  He walks towards her quickly and stops when he reaches her.  “Will you permit me to take my leave of you before my departure on the morrow?”

“If you wish.”

She stands before him expectantly, he doesn’t know what she expects but it is surely not what he does.

He reaches out to her with his hands to gip her shoulders and captures her lips with his own.  For a moment she is frozen in his arms and then she begins beating against his chest with her hands.  Her blows feel like the flutter of birds’ wings.  _I am kissing her when I know she does not want to be kissed. Deep down I am still a brute,_ he thinks but it doesn’t stop him, not yet, although it will soon.  He hates feeling her resist him.  Then abruptly she stops resisting.  Her arms twine around his neck and she doesn’t only return his kiss she deepens it until he is breathless.  He lowers his hands to her lower back and pulls her closer to him so she can feel his desire for her digging into her belly.  Finally he pulls away trying to catch his breath.  He rests his forehead against hers, their breath coming fast and mingling in the air in front of their faces.  Then he kisses her again.  This time there is no resistance only eagerness and before he knows it she is pressed up against the wall of the hallway and he is pressed so close to her there is no space for light or air between their bodies.

“Sansa please, take me back into your bed.  Just for tonight.  I do not ask for more.  Let me farewell you as a husband should farewell his wife,” he whispers to her as he showers kisses on her face and neck.  He never intended to ask her for this, he is drunk on her kisses, on the closeness of her perfect body, on the scent of her hair.  “Let me love you tonight.”  The word is out before he can call it back.  It is only the second time he hasn’t called it fucking, though if he’s honest he knows it has never been fucking. With Sansa it has never been about his release.  It has been about longing and closeness and desire and mutual pleasure.  It has been his way of showing her what he can never bring himself to say.

He can feel her hands on his buttocks pressing him closer still as she grinds against his hardness.  She wants him.  He knows she does.  Her breath is still coming fast as she captures his lips again with hers.  Part of him is conscious that soon everyone will be leaving the Great Hall after their meal.  He knows he should stop this.  That Sansa would be mortified if her family and the castle’s other inhabitants catch them like this.  He pulls his lips from hers.

“Sansa they’ll all be coming out of the Great Hall soon.  I know you don’t want Arya and Bran and Rickon to see us like this.  We have to stop.”

“Yes,” she says capturing his mouth once again.

 He pulls away. “Sansa, you’re not stopping.” 

She makes a frustrated noise. “Yes, I will take you into my bed.  Just for tonight.  I’ll let you show me how a husband should take his leave of his lady wife.”

* * *

When they arrive at the room they used to share Sansa blows out the candles so the only light comes from the fire.  They undress themselves on opposite sides of the bed before slipping beneath the covers.

No words are exchanged as their bodies join repeatedly as they attempt to satisfy their physical desires.  The first time Sansa’s need is so great she comes so fast and hard she has to bite down on his shoulder to stop herself from screaming in the intensity of her release and his follows hers quickly.

But once is not enough for either of them and he makes her come for him again and again and again until she loses the capacity and he breaks the silence between them to beg for a response she is no longer able to give, so that when he finds his release for the last time the sound he makes is more one of frustration than satisfaction.

For Sansa’s part it doesn’t feel like a goodbye, but more like a farewell.  Each time they join she feels more and more overwhelmed to the point where she begins to lose track of where her body ends and his begins.  She has no idea whether the moisture that soaks her cheeks belongs to her, to him or is a mixture of both their tears.

* * *

Arya wakes to find Rickon crawling into her bed.  She can hear Shaggy’s claws scraping against the stone floor as he moves to make himself comfortable under her bed.

“It’s late, and you’re getting too old to sleep with me.”

“Sandor hasn’t gone to bed yet and I’m tired.”

“Will you keep Sansa company when we are all gone to White Harbour?”

“No I’m going to visit the Queen.  I don’t want to stay here with her.  I hate her.”

“You don’t hate her, she’s your sister.”

“I do hate her.  She makes Sandor sad.  He should have married you, you wouldn’t make him sad.”

“I would.  If he was married to me he would be sad because he wasn’t married to Sansa.  He loves her very much.”

“He shouldn’t, she’s mean.”

“She isn’t really.  Love makes things hard sometimes.  It makes you angry and afraid.”

“Sandor’s never afraid.”

“Yes he is, I’ve seen him afraid, you ask him about it and he’ll tell you.  Everyone gets afraid sometimes.”

Rickon is silent and she thinks he has gone to sleep but she should have known better.

“But we love him too,” he finally ventures in a small voice.

“Yes we do and he loves us but it’s a different kind of love, and he hasn’t known us as long as he’s known her.  Sandor wouldn’t even live with us if it wasn’t for Sansa.  She brought him home with her to Winterfell, and he is sworn to her service not to Bran’s.”

“Are there lots of different kinds of love then?”

“Yes lots of different kinds.  The way we love Sandor is like the way we love Jon and Bran, a family kind of love.”

“So then what kind of love does...?”

“It’s hard to explain and if I could explain it I don’t think you’d understand it.”

“I hate it when people tell me I won’t understand things just because I’m young.”

“I only say that because I didn’t understand myself.  I was only a little younger than you when I found out he thought of Sansa in that way and I didn’t like it.  Remember how I was when I first came back?  How I didn’t like him to be alone with Sansa?”

“You tried to stick him with Needle and Sansa and I stopped you.”

“That was because I didn’t understand. Now let me go to sleep I have a long journey tomorrow.”

* * *

He gets out of bed carefully, trying not to wake Sansa.  He’s had all the sleep he’s getting tonight but he can’t bring himself to go back to his room in the guardhouse.  Instead he lifts a chair over to her side of the bed and settles himself in it to watch her sleep for what will probably be the last time.  He is angry with himself.  First he forced a kiss on her and then that last time, he can’t fool himself into thinking she wanted it.  She couldn’t even come and she was crying gods be damned.  He’d been crying as well but that hadn’t stopped him _.  You told her to tell you no if she didn’t want to and she didn’t say a_ word, he tries to reassure himself.  _We can’t keep doing this, fucking until we’re both senseless, it takes more than that to make a marriage._ He wants more than that and she deserves more.  _All the sex in the world can’t satisfy you if what you want is love._

He knows it would be a mistake to wake her in the morning to say goodbye; but it would also be wrong to just leave.  He slips into her small solar and finds paper, a quill and some ink and brings them back to his seat next to the bed so he can glance at her while he writes.  It takes him several attempts to get what he hopes is the right tone: affectionate and respectful.  He crumbles up his failed attempts and tosses them in the direction of the now smoldering fire.


	22. Chapter 22

When Sansa wakes it is to the awareness that someone is watching her.  She feels warm and deeply satisfied.  It’s just as well as the skin between her legs also feels very tender.  She opens her eyes but the first face she sees is not the one she expects.  Her youngest brother is sitting on a chair beside the bed, a very bored looking direwolf lolling at his feet.

“You didn’t even wake up to tell them goodbye. Arya left you a note,” he says thrusting it at her and she reaches out her hand to take it, “and I think _he_ left you a letter.” Rickon gestures to the pillow next to hers and Sansa turns her head to see a letter sitting on top of the white pillow slip.

“Did you read it?”

“I know you think I’m more wildling than Stark but I know better than to read other peoples’ letters.  I can guess what it’ll be like anyway, it’ll be just like one  of those soppy songs you used to sing to me when I was little before you all went away and left me.  All about how much he loves you.”

“Rickon, Sandor Clegane is not going to write me that kind of letter,” the thought of him doing so brings a smile to Sansa’s lips.  “He hates those songs as much as you do.  He doesn’t even believe in love.”

“He does!  He loves me and Arya and we love him!  But he loves you more and you make him sad and he’s going to leave us.”

“It’s alright Rickon.  He’s just gone to White Harbour with Bran and Arya.  He’s not leaving us.”  Then Sansa remembers that strange feeling she’d had last night, how it had felt like farewell.  She drops Arya’s note and snatches Sandor’s letter up from the pillow and tears it open.  It is short and written in his distinctive hand:

_To my beloved wife,_

_Thank you for allowing me to take a proper farewell of you.  True to my word last night I will not take advantage of your generousity further.  When I come back from White Harbour I will return to my room in the guardhouse.  I am sorry for doubting you the night we argued and I promise you that I intend to uphold the vow I made to you that night.  There will be no others.  While I am gone I ask you to think about what you want.  I know this marriage was not of your choosing and if it is to continue it can do so on your terms.  If you would rather have your freedom I could speak to your brothers about taking The Black._

_I am yours,_

_Sandor Clegane_

 

The letter feels like a punch to her gut- she recognises the feeling thanks to Ser Meryn and Ser Boros.

“Is it soppy?”

“No,” she answers in a voice that surprises her with its steadiness.  _He is telling me that when he returns he will keep his distance._ She refolds Sandor’s letter, puts it down on the bed and picks up Arya’s note in its place. 

Arya’s note is little more than a rough scrawl and the paper is torn:

_I know you’re scared, so is he. Let yourself love him. He needs you.  Will write when we get to WH._

As soon as she has finished reading Arya’s note Sansa bursts into tears.  Rickon and Shaggy leave the room in disgust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this last chapter is a short one but I thought I would post it now as this will probably be my last up-date for a few weeks as I will have limited access to the internet during the holidays. However on the plus side I hope to have the opportunity to do lots of writing though so look forward to multiple up-dates when I get back! Thanks to all of you who are reading, commenting and leaving kudos. I have always loved to write but this is the first time I have really shared my work with anyone - so it has been exciting and scary. Thanks for the support.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back from holiday now and I am planning to return to posting at least once per week. Thanks so much for all your comments and kudos. I was so excited to see all the messages in my inbox on my return. I hope you enjoy this chapter. I have not proof read it properly so my apologies for any errors but I wanted to get it posted today as a reward for all your patience. I will come back and tidy it up later.

PART ONE – ON THE WAY TO WHITE HARBOUR

“So,” Arya said dropping back to ride beside him, “Did you and Sansa sort things out?”

“Not so much.” Sandor keeps his eyes on Bran who rides in front with Summer trotting alongside his horse.  Bran sits tall in his special saddle on a horse he trained to respond to commands solely through the reigns.  Sandor sees the quiver of arrows strapped across Bran’s back and the bow over his shoulder, and gives silent thanks to Meera Reed who has passed some of her skill with a bow onto Bran.  Though Sandor can’t see it from his current vantage point he knows Bran wears a dagger strapped to his belt.  He himself has taught the little lord to wield it. 

“Is that all you’re going to say?” Arya asked.

“Nothing else to say.”

Arya made a huffing sound and quickened her horse’s pace.  Soon she was riding in front again with Bran.

They made camp at dusk.  Sandor put up the tent they had brought with them.  It was a reasonable size with room for all three bedrolls and for Summer if he wished to sleep there.  Bran had decided all three of them would take turns keeping watch while the other two slept.  Summer was to keep watch with Bran.

Arya volunteered for first watch as she said she wasn’t tired.  So after they ate a simple supper, he and Bran turned in for the night.  Sandor was to have second watch so he figured he might as well get what sleep he could.

He falls asleep easily and finds himself in his favourite dream.  It’s the first dream he ever had about Sansa.  The two of them are cuddled up together in bed and she is telling him that she loves him, that it’s always been him, will always be him; that despite every bad thing he’s ever done she loves him still.  She wants to marry him and have his children.  She punctuates her words with kisses to his face, his neck, and places her final kiss on his bare chest in the exact spot where the terrible emptiness within him rests. 

* * *

He is refilling their water skins after they have stopped to make camp at dusk on the second day when he becomes conscious of being watched.  He looks up and sees a shape in a clump of bushes close by.  He lowers the water skins slowly and reaches for the hilt of his sword.  Travel in the North is safer now the war is over and the wildlings have been integrated into society but it still pays to be cautious.  He stands up and takes a step towards the bushes but before he can unsheathe his sword the creature in the bushes is flying towards him and he manages to turn slightly and brace himself just in time to avoid being knocked to the ground.

“Fuck Nymeria!  You could have killed me!”  The wolf makes a sound that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.  “What are you doing here girl?”  When Arya returned to them Nymeria found her way home too but, she seems to prefer roaming the woods to a more settled life so she only visits Winterfell periodically.  Nymeria is bounding around him and giving short little barks.  He bends to pick up the water skins and walks back to camp, with Nymeria following.

“We have a visitor!” he calls out when he’s close enough to where he pitched their tent earlier.  Arya looks up from where she is building the fire, Bran pokes his head out of the tent and Summer comes barrelling out of the tent pouncing on Nymeria and then the two wolves are rolling around on the ground nipping and growling in an epic play fight.  Nymeria eventually manages to extract herself and lopes over to Arya and starts licking her face, while Arya pets her. 

Seeing Arya with Nymeria makes him think of his wife.  How unfair it is that she has no direwolf.  He remembers Lady only vaguely from the Kingsroad and wonders if she would have liked him as the other direwolves seem to.

When Arya wakes him to take third watch that night he doesn’t remember his dreams.

* * *

He has first watch on the third night, and falls asleep as soon as he has woken Arya to take the second, but he is soon fighting desperately to wake up from the Vale dream. 

_It starts as it usually does with the scratching on the door that woke him that night.  He staggers over to the door dulled from sleep and pulls it open.  Sansa is there.  Her hair is wild and her eyes are wide and as soon as they rest on him, they roll up into her head and she faints.  He manages to catch her before she hits the floor.  He carries her into his room, nudging the door shut before he walks over to the bed and lays her down.  It is when he looks down at his hands that panic hits him because his hands are covered with blood. He tears off her dress without thinking, looking for the wound.  Her shift is clean, unmarked front and back.  Not her blood.  Thank the gods not her blood.  He lights the candle then and sees her face properly.  A tiny trickle of blood is streaming from her lip and one cheek is red.  Someone has hit her.  Hit her pretty face.  He crosses to the ewer then, wets a clean rag and carries it back to the bed where he begins to sponge her face with it, wiping the blood away.  He sighs with relief when she begins to stir.  Her eyes flutter and she looks up, right at him and he could swear he sees relief in her eyes._

_“Sandor,” it is the first time she says his name but there is no time to revel in it “I need-“_

_He knows what she needs, can tell by the fact her face has turned grey.  He puts his mercifully empty chamber pot in her hands just as she begins to retch. He holds her hair back while she vomits._

“Sandor, wake up,” she says and he does but it is not her, but her sister who is leaning over him shaking him.  “Do you want to wake Bran?  You were moaning and thrashing around something awful.”

“Bad dream,” he says stiffly.

“Really?”

“We all get them sometimes.”

“I know I do. Can you go back to sleep?”

“Don’t much want to.  I’ll take the rest of your watch and wake Bran when it’s time for his.  No sense in us both staying up.”

“Not unless you want to talk.  You’ve been pretty quiet on this trip.  You haven’t even mentioned Sansa’s name until you called for her in your dream.”

“Arya.  Leave it alone.”

“You haven’t done anything stupid have you?”

“You mean besides marrying your sister?”

“If you think that was stupid there really is no hope for you.  I’m going to sleep now.”

“But what if I want to talk?”

“Talk to yourself, you never listen to me anyway.”

* * *

“Where are those wolves?” Sandor asks when he returns to their new camp with full water skins and a few dead rabbits on the evening of the fourth day. 

Arya shrugged.  “Bran’s asleep, I could wake him and find out.”

“I hope he really is asleep and not off with Summer.  He needs to rest.”

“You’re worried about him.”

“It’s a while since he did a long trip like this – not since your sister and I brought him back to Winterfell from The Wall, and he didn’t make that trip in the saddle.”

“He’s stronger than he looks you know.”

“I know he is.  Got a will of iron that boy. Won’t ever let on to us that he’s struggling that’s why we have to watch out for him.”

“You going to skin the rabbits or will I?”

“Be quicker if we both do it.”

As they sit beside the fire, which Arya built, skinning and gutting the rabbits he killed it reminds him of when they travelled in the Riverlands.  The feeling of missing Sansa sat heavily on him then too, although for a different reason.

They hear yipping in the distance.

“Sounds like the wolves are on their way back.”

“Just as well.  I know travelling is safer now but I prefer to have them with us at night.”

“You must be getting old.  You’ve forgotten you once travelled through the Riverlands with nothing but a horse and a ten-year-old girl in the middle of a war, trying to avoid two armies and a band of outlaws.”

“Not old, just learnt my lesson, we both remember how that turned out.”

The wolves caper into camp chuffing and nipping and playing with each other but now there are three. Summer and Nymeria have been joined by Shaggy Dog who is delighted to see them and starts capering around him and Arya like he hasn’t seen them for weeks; or maybe he is just after the rabbits.

Then he sees the boy and he realises he should have expected this. He feels the anger rising in him and it must show on his face because Rickon takes one look in his direction and freezes. Arya reaches out and rests a hand on Sandor’s arm.

“What are you doing here Rickon?” she asks in a soft voice before he can, because his voice would not be soft. 

“You left me behind.” Rickon whines, he has a real thing about this, always imagining himself left.  He knows why Rickon feels like this but the boy does his own fair share of leaving now.

“We didn’t leave you behind,” Sandor growls, shrugging Arya’s hand off his arm “What did I say to you when I said goodbye to you in the yard at Winterfell?”

“That you needed me and Shaggy to watch over Sansa while you all went to White Harbour.”

“And this is looking after your sister is it?  Following us out into the Northern wilds, just you and a direwolf.  I bet you didn’t even tell them at Winterfell you were leaving or where you were going – did you?  Did you?  Do you ever think about anyone but yourself?” He has hold of Rickon now, is trying to stop himself from shaking the boy.

“Sandor, he’s only eleven.”

“And what was your sister doing at eleven?  What were you doing at eleven?  What was Bran doing when he was eleven? We ask much less of him than was asked of the three of you, and still he does whatever he pleases.”

Rickon’s eyes are wide and he realises the boy has never seen him truly angry.  Arya has though and she is beside them now trying to remove his hand from where it clasps Rickon’s arm by prying at his fingers.

“Did it never occur to you that you left your sister behind?  That you left her alone with no family at Winterfell?  That you took Shaggy away with you when he was needed for her protection.”

“Let him go!”  It’s Bran, in his lord’s voice from inside the tent. Sandor, who has never forgotten how to follow orders releases Rickon immediately.  “Rickon!  Come here now!” The boy who looked like he was about to bolt, swallows and follows the sound of his brother’s voice into the tent.  Sandor and Arya stand looking at each other.

“I could send Nymeria to her if you like?  When Nymeria returned I told Sansa she belonged to both of us now.”

“Would she leave you?  Go to Winterfell on her own knowing you’re not there?”

“Yes.  She likes Sansa, she would take of her for me.”

“Send her then.” He says shortly and returns to his seat by the fire, half-expecting the direwolves will have eaten the rabbits he caught earlier but they are untouched.

PART TWO – BACK AT WINTERFELL

“Milady I am here to inform you that I have put up with this for as long as I am going to.” Sansa opened her eyes and looks up to see Osha standing beside her bed.  “For two days I’ve brought you your meals and emptied your chamber pot and I haven’t said a word but today you get up.  There are two tradesmen from the Wintertown waiting in the Great Hall for you to settle a dispute;  and a good twenty small folk are in there too because some fool wildling from one of the new settlements stole away the daughter of Alburt the crofter during the night. Though consensus in the kitchens seems to be if it was young Irk from Wildtown that did the stealing the girl was more than willing to be stolen.”

“I’m not feeling well Osha.”

“Lovesickness is not an actual sickness milady much as its name might cause understandable confusion.”

“I am not lovesick Osha.  Mt stomach is just a little upset.” 

Osha gave her a sharp look. “If that is the way of it milady I’ll bring you some ginger tea once you are up and dressed.  But you are the Stark in Winterfell, you have a duty to your brother.”

“Send for Rickon then, I’ll have him sit with me.  He needs to take an interest in such things, Bran first sat the Lord’s seat when he was only seven.”

“Your brother is not in the castle milady, we first missed him yesterday morning and despite checking all his favourite spots he is nowhere to be found.”

“I suppose he’s run off again. Where to this time?”

“You know how he hates being left behind.  My guess, he’s gone after your brother to White Harbour.”

 “Do we send someone after him?”

“Best leave him to it I think.  Commander Clegane won’t be best pleased to see him.”

“Why not?”

“Heard the Commander say as he was leaving that Rickon and Shaggy were to stay close to Winterfell and watch over you while he, the Little Lord and Lady Arya were gone.  I think Rickon is about to discover what everyone else at Winterfell already knows, that the Commander takes your safety very seriously.”

* * *

Sansa sits her dressing table waiting for her maid to arrive to do her hair and to finish lacing her into her dress.  She reaches for the small casket containing her jewels.  She doesn’t have many.  Her mother’s jewels, both her own (gifts from her own father and Sansa’s) and those that traditionally belonged to the Lady Stark were long lost.  All that remained to Sansa were the childish pieces that had been gifts from her parents.  She remembers how she had used to love wearing her mother’s jewels as a child, how she and her mother had picked out the pieces that Sansa would wear on her imagined wedding day.   _Whoever has my mother’s jewels could keep them with my good will if I could only have my mother back_.

Sansa opens her casket and is instantly surprised by the presence of an additional piece.  The chain is gold, the pendant that hangs from it is gold too with three black dogs enamelled on it.  She can almost hear him telling her about the three dogs **that died, in the yellow of autumn grass.*** _This must have belonged to his mother like my bride’s cloak.  He left it in here so that I would find it, and wear it._  Sansa didn’t have to fiddle with the catch as the chain was long enough that she could simply slip it over her head.

*** * ***

Two hours after her conversation with Osha Sansa was sitting in the Lord’s seat sipping her second cup of ginger tea.

She had dispatched Alburt and his two son’s off to Wildtown in the company of ten of Winterfell’s spearwives to see if his daughter was indeed with young Irk.  It turned out he had been aware his daughter had been stepping out with Irk but he didn’t hold with this stealing business.  As far as he was concerned if his daughter and Irk wanted to start their life together they’d take their vows under a heart tree before she left her father’s house.  Sansa trusted the spearwives to handle the whole affair as it needed to be handled.  The Wildling women had settled well at Winterfell and the Northerners seemed to take to them more readily than they did the wildling men.

She had also successfully mediated the tradesmen’s dispute; and settled a foolish squabble between two men from the mountain clans about the ownership of some wandering sheep.  The maester sat beside her and gave her approving looks.

* * *

Sansa sighed into her book for what felt like the hundredth time that evening.  She just couldn’t concentrate on anything.

“Are you quite well my lady?” the maester asked her.  She had asked him to join her in Bran’s solar for the evening thinking it would be good to have some company, but he had spread his own work over the table and seemed content to entertain himself with that.  She had asked Osha to join her too, and she had promised to come once she had finished her chores.  _Osha is our other mainstay here,_ Sansa mused _, more friend than servant we rely on her to care for us and keep Winterfell running. The maester is poor company, I hope she will be here soon._

Osha did arrive soon, with a pot of ginger tea and three cups, and setting them down on the table.  The master hastily moved some of his papers out of the way.

“Good for the digestion.”  She announced as she poured a cup for each of them, and handed them out.

She settled herself into a chair next to Sansa with her own cup.

“Is it a good book milady?”

“I can’t really concentrate on it Osha.  Everything seems very dull this evening.”

“Of course it does.  With the Commander, and your brothers and sister away you have little to occupy your evenings.  You should think of a project to keep you busy. Stop you from missing them all so much. Perhaps you could make them each a gift to give them when they return.”

“What a wonderful idea Osha.”

“I thought you might say that milady.” Something in Osha’s tone makes Sansa look up and she is sure she almost catches a smile passing between Osha and the maester.

* * *

The next morning Osha arrives with a mug of ginger tea to help her dress. 

“That chain is a fine one milady, but it is so long no-one can see the pendant.  Would you allow me to adjust it a little?”

“Of course Osha.” Osha undoes the clasp and loops the chain twice a round Sansa’s neck.  The first loop of the chain settles at the base of Sansa’s throat and the second hangs lower so the pendant hangs in the perfect spot. 

“It looks to be fine work milady.”

“It is I think.  Lannister gold.  It belonged to the Commander’s mother I believe.”

“A fine gift milady, you should wear it with pride.”

* * *

That afternoon, after she has seen the petitioners for the day Osha takes Sansa to do inventory in the linen safe so she can see what fabric and thread they have available for Sansa to use if she wants to sew anything for gifts.  Sansa tries not to show her excitement when she finds the bolt of grey wool that is the same shade as her husband’s eyes.

* * *

Sandor, Bran and Arya have been gone ten days the next time Osha comes to Sansa’s room in the morning.  It is very early and though Sansa is awake she is not yet up.

“You have a visitor milady.  She was waiting at the kitchen door when I came down to light the fires.”

“Who?” Sansa half sits up in bed.  She is expecting Lady Mormont but she can’t picture the She Bear waiting at the kitchen door; or Osha bringing her up to her bedroom.  At that moment the air is almost knocked out of her as something big and furry launches itself on her and starts to lick her face.  “Nymeria?  O Nymeria!  What are you doing here?  Arya’s not at home.”  Sansa can’t stop herself from laughing and petting the enormous direwolf, and Nymeria seems reluctant to let her sit up again, nudging her back onto the bed whenever she tries to move.

“I knew she’d cheer you up.”

“But why is she here when Arya’s not?”

“You ask me, your sister sent her to keep you company.  You know she says Nymeria belongs to both of you now.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Quote from GRRM's A Clash of Kings.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a sexy dream later in this chapter.

PART ONE - ON THE WAY TO WHITE HARBOUR

He drops the full waterskins on the riverbank and strips off to pile his clothes beside them.  Tonight, for the first time they are camping close to a river instead of a stream and he means to make the most of it and bathe.  He wades out into the deepest part of the river wearing only his small clothes, takes a deep breath and fully immerses himself in the cool water.  The coldness of the water shocks some life into his tired muscles and extingishes the hot ache of longing in his genitals.  Fuck it feels good.  He lets himself bob back up to the surface and floats on his back, letting the current carry him for a bit and then stands, moving to crouch in the shallows.  When he is finished here he should go back to camp and bring Bran and Rickon down, send Arya down by herself once they’re done.  They will all feel better for being clean.

The last few days on the road since Rickon joined them have been torturous.  He hasn’t spoken to the boy and the boy has not come near him.  Rickon has spent the days sharing a horse with Arya and the nights sharing a bedroll with Bran, speaking to his siblings in whispers.  Of all the Starks Rickon has always liked him the best: following him around, sleeping on his bed, he even went through a stage of calling Sandor Father.  All that is gone now he has seen the Hound.

On top of the destruction of his relationship with Rickon his mind has been plagued by thoughts of Sansa.  He has spent days wondering if Nymeria has reached her yet.  He has spent nights dreaming about all that could have happened to her in his absence.  What if she tripped falling down the tower stairs because his strong arm was not there to catch her.  What if Iron Born have taken Winetrfell in the night, led by Theon Greyjoy who has not let death stop him in his quest for vengeance against House Stark?  If there is one thing Sandor learned fighting The Others and from being in close proximity to the Red Woman it’s that the dead don’t always stay dead.  His own good-brother Jon Snow is proof of that; and Sandor never saw Theon’s body burned.  Not that it matters because he saw them burn the bodies of Roose Bolton and his bastard son and they have been in his dreams these past nights too – storming Winterfell to reclaim the position of Warden of the North for House Bolton.  He has also seen Sansa slipping out of Winterfell in the dark of night to travel South in search of her lost love, because she understood what the letter he left  was offering her all too well. It was offering her freedom, even though it will kill him if she takes it.

The worst dreams though have been the true ones.  The memories.  How she insisted on coming with him when Jon summoned him to The Wall to help in the fight against The Others.  The words she spoke to him then: “You are not leaving me behind, bad things happen to me when you leave me.”  He wonders if she feels like that still.  He thought she was better since her brothers and Arya returned to her.  After all she never complained once when he accompanied Arya on her visits to Jon at The Wall.

How she came to him when Bran had decided to seek a husband for her and asked him with tears in her eyes if he would take her away if she didn’t want to marry the man Bran chose.  He had tried to re-assure her that Bran would never make her marry someone against her will not after what she had suffered.  She had only said that Bran would always be her Lord first and her brother second; so he had given his word. _I should have asked her if she wanted me to take her away so she wouldn’t have to marry me._

“Is it cold?” a small voice asks from the riverbank and he looks over to see Rickon standing next to his discarded clothes and the waterskins.

“Aye it’s cold; but good despite it.”

“Can I come in?”

“If you want.” 

Rickon shucks off his clothes in the way only small boys can and Sandor finds himself thinking of Sansa again.  She was such a little lady at eleven all long dresses and courtesy; and Bran at eleven, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North all solemn and serious.  This boy is none of those things; and it suddenly hits him why they are all soft on Rickon.  It’s because all of them, himself included, had to grow up too soon so they have let Rickon stay a child.  Even Lord Eddard Stark with his misplaced faith in honour would have prepared the boy better for life by now.

Rickon is splashing about in the water moving towards Sandor but he stops short, just over an arm’s length away.  His odd blue-grey eyes staring straight at Sandor.

“Are you going to hit me?”

“No boy, I’m not going to hit you.”

“Good ‘cos if you did hit me I know it would hurt a lot and I wouldn’t like it.”  The boy sucks in a breath then and vanishes under the water, bobbing back up again quickly.

“I’m sorry I made you angry, but I’m not sorry I left Sansa.  She’s silly.”

“She’s not silly, she’s pretty smart actually.  She just doesn’t like people to notice that about her.”

“She is silly.  If she was going to marry you anyway she should have married you ages ago, when I needed you to be my parents.  Bran told me you couldn’t be my parents because you weren’t married and now you are married you still won’t be my parents.”

“Rickon, you know what happened to your parents.  They’re gone.  What happened to them and your brother Robb was terrible.  Their loss will hurt you and Bran and Sansa and Arya for as long as you live and it should, because they were good people and they loved you even though they made mistakes and even if you don’t really remember them.  You can’t just pick other people to replace them.”

“I know you and Sansa wouldn’t be my parents really, but I could pretend.  Sometimes lords send their younger sons to another family to foster.”

“Who told you that?”

“The Maester. He said my father was sent to foster with Lord Arryn.”

“That he was, him and Robert Baratheon both.” _  
_

“The Usurper?” Rickon hisses and Sandor wonders just what sort of history the maester is teaching him, if Rickon is unaware of that detail. 

PART TWO - BACK AT WINTERFELL

Sansa wakes with a gasp as a spasm rocks her body.  She had no idea that a dream could affect her so powerfully, the ache between her legs that has been building for several days has eased but not completely.  She needs more.  What she really needs is her husband but he is leagues away by now and she has no idea when he will be back.  She doesn’t even know if he has reached White Harbour yet. She stretches her right hand down to explore the folds between her legs to find them slick.  It was a very good dream.  She remember’s Sandor telling her to think of something arousing when she touches herself down there so she tries to recall the details of her dream.

He lifts her up in front of him on his horse and they ride into the Wolfswood.  The whole way there she can feel the hardness of his manhood pressing into her back like a promise.  When they arrive at the clearing he dismounts to tie up the horse and then lifts her down.  In no time at all she is lying on her back in the soft grass as he tears her bodice open exposing her breasts, lavishing attention on them with his hand and his tongue while his other hand lifts her shirts and explores the sensitive flesh between her legs.  He moans when he feels how wet she is.  In between her gasps and moans she begs him to cease his attentions to remove his shirt and he does as she asks.  She runs her hands over his muscles, and circles his nipples with a finger before lifting her head to take each of them into her mouth in turn.  One of his hands is braced over her head now.  The other has returned to explore between her legs.

She lowers a hand to the lacing of his breeches to feel his hardness straining against them.

“Take me now,” she moans, “take me now.” She fumbles with the lacings with shaking hands, desparate to get them undone.  Once she has succeed she sets his manhood free stroking it once making him gasp and guiding him into position before he drives deep into the core of her.  She throws back her head and cries out her pleasure.  No one can hear them in the wolfswood, she doesn’t have to hold anything back.

She stares up into the clear blue sky, feels the dampness of the earth through her thin dress, and the breeze on her exposed breasts but she is not cold, because the rest of her body is burning up as she moves her hips in response to his thrusts.  She can feel her pleasure building, coiling inside her waiting for him to take her over the edge into the bliss only he can give her.

When he kisses her mouth, the sky, the damp grass everything else except him is completely forgotten.  “I need you, Sansa.”  He murmurs between kisses “I want you, Sansa” another kiss “I love you, Sansa.”  He says the words easily as though they are nothing but she knows they are everything.  It is not just their bodies meeting here in the Wolfswood.  It is their love that drives them to make their bodies into one flesh, to be this close, to give each other such intense pleasure. She barely has enough breath left to get the words out “I need you.  I want you.  I love you.  I love you.  I love you,” she pants.

“Are you ready for me to-”

“No make me wait, make me wait, I want to come with you.” She gasps even though she can barely stand to wait another moment, but it will be worth it.  She loves it when they come together. 

She loses  herself in the pleasure of being this close to him, the feeling of him moving inside her.  He starts to lose his rhythm and she is terrified for a moment he will forget her and come without her but she should have known better.  His thumb is there to push her over the edge just as his control breaks.  She cries out as the spasms wrack her body and he calls her name as he empties himself inside her.

Sansa, lying alone in her bed at Winterfell plunges two fingers inside herself to feel the aftershocks of the orgasm she coaxed out of her needy flesh.  It was an amazing dream.  For a moment she remembers the girl she once was, the girl who thought she could make the whole of Westeros love her once she became Queen.  The girl who convinced herself she could make Willas Tyrell, a complete stranger fall in love her.  If she believed those things once surely she has enough self-belief left to make Sandor love her.  After all he married her, he seems to desire her and he has always cared about her welfare.  Maybe Arya was right maybe I just have to say the words.  He won’t say them back if he doesn’t feel the same.  Then I will know what I have to do; and if I do say the words at least he will stop thinking I don’t want to be married to him.

 

 


	25. Chapter 25

IN WHITE HARBOUR

Every hair on his body stands on end when they ride into the yard of New Castle. Bran is in front; Arya, who rides double with Rickon follows, while Sandor is rear-guard.  Even from this position he can see Lord Wyman, his son, his daughter-in-law and grand-daughters waiting to greet them but the yard is too full. Too full of soldiers.  Some of them wear Lord Wyman’s colours but the majority wear Lannister red or the black and red of house Targaryen. 

When he sees Brienne standing among the Queen’s troops he knows they are done.  There is no way to get a raven to Sansa or Jon, no way to warn them of what is coming. _I should have left her the other letter,_ he thinks fleetingly, _now she’ll never know that I-_. He stops that thought.  It does no good to think of such things.  He stares ahead of him.  He can tell Arya is on alert too.  Her instincts are as good as his.  Better maybe, because his must be rusty – to have travelled across the North by himself with three precious Starks, to have trusted all the members of the Council of Four - and Lord Manderly in particular - so completely he never once thought ‘trap’.  He had almost forgotten their small treason sitting up at the Wall.  A treason that started with Brienne’s lie and has since spread to ensnare them all.

“Lord Wyman,” Bran sits high in his special saddle, straight spine, his Lord’s voice strong and powerful.

“Lord Stark.  Welcome to White Harbour.” Lord Manderly bows as much as he can with his girth.  His son bows and his daughter-in-law and grand-daughters curtsy.  “I apologise for the chaos in the yard.  A ship arrived from Kings Landing yesterday, carrying a delegation from the Queen and her Hand bound for Winterfell with gifts to celebrate your sister’s marriage.”

 _Not a trap then_ , Sandor thinks _but something is definitely wrong_.  _There are too many soldiers to be escorting a few baubles and bolts of cloth from Kingslanding to Winterfell._

“Lady Arya, Rickon, Clegane.” Lord Manderly inclines his head to each of them in turn and Sandor can tell from his eyes that he is troubled.  Rickon vaults off Arya’s horse.

“Grandpa Wyman!” Rickon exclaims catapulting himself into Lord Wyman’s belly, trying in vain to wrap his arms around the Lord of White Harbour.  _This child would make everyone family._ Lord Wyman pats him on the head and laughs at his enthusiasm.  _Next it will be Grandpa Davos_. And sure enough as soon as Rickon catches sight of the Onion Knight standing slightly behind Lord Wyman and his family he launches himself at the man with just as much energy. “Grandpa Davos!”  _There it is._

Arya laughs and the tension in the yard seems to dissipate.

“You may have noticed another friend returned north with the delegation?” Lord Wyman hints to the boy and Rickon is all eyes; looking about, then he sees her. “Brienne! Brienne!  You’ve come home!” He runs to her and gives her the same treatment as Lord Wyman and Ser Davos.  “You were gone such a long time.” _Better for us all if she’d stayed away._

“Well met Brienne,” Bran says as she bows her greeting to him and Arya.  Bestowing only a wary nod on Sandor.  _She must know what I thought when I saw her_.  “I trust your father and the boy are well.”

“Very well, thank you my Lord.”

“I’m so glad you’re back Brienne, when we get back to Winterfell you and I can go visit Jon at The Wall!” Arya exclaimed; and he almost wanted to slap her.  If it was up to him Brienne should be kept as far from The Wall as possible, preferably at home in fucking Tarth with her father and her son.

“I’ll look forward to it Lady Arya.  Clegane,” she greets him stiffly as usual.  No love lost there.

“Brienne.”

Lord Manderly clears his throat.  “My Lord, I also wish to present Lord Tyrion’s envoy to you, if I may.  Allow me to introduce Lord Stokeworth.”

“A pleasure to meet you Lord Stokeworth,” Bran says nodding at the man who has stepped forward from among some Lannister men.  Sandor freezes.  Of course Bran and Arya have never met this man, but he has.  He remembers Tyrion’s pet sell-sword well and Sansa will too. _Gods-damn it what was Tyrion thinking sending this man north?_

“The pleasure is mine Lord Stark.”

“May I present my sister Lady Arya, my brother Rickon, and my good-brother Sandor Clegane.”

Bronn nods to each of them in turn “Lady Arya, Rickon … Hound.” Sandor is not the only one to stiffen at the use of his old nickname. 

“You knew my good-brother before then?” Bran asks.

“Yes my Lord.”

“You’re not allowed to call him that anymore.”  It’s Rickon’s voice, a boy’s voice, not yet broken.  “Sansa doesn’t like it.”

“Well your sister’s not here, is she?” Bronn says to him, and Sandor thinks he might just be trying to tease the boy.  Bronn always thought he was funny but Rickon is not having any of it.

“I don’t like it either.  He’s a man not a dog.” Sandor can’t help himself laughing at Sansa’s words coming out of Rickon’s mouth and Arya’s giggling too but Bran still wears his lord’s face.

“Lord Manderly said you are Lord Tyrion’s envoy.  Did the Queen send an envoy also?”

“She did my Lord. Her envoy became violently ill on the journey, not being accustomed to sea travel and is presently abed.  He sends his apologies.  He will wait on you as soon as he is able.”

“Give him my best wishes for his recovery.”

“I will my Lord.”

“Now, Lord Manderly if you do not mind, we have had a long journey and my companions and I would very much like to retire.”

“As you wish Lord Stark, your chambers have been prepared for you.”

* * *

He has not been in his room long when there is a knock on the door.  When he opens it, it is not Brienne even though he asked her to attend him.  As one sworn to Winterfell she is technically under his command even if he seldom reminds her of it.  It is Lord Wyman himself. Sandor steps back immediately to let his lordship into the room and closes the door.

“My apologies Clegane.  I know what you must have thought riding into the yard.  When they arrived yesterday I half thought we were being invaded.  I tried to get them to move out of the yard when we got news of your approach but they were … reluctant."

“My apologies to you Lord Wyman, I know better than to doubt your loyalty to House Stark.”

“Are they in trouble Clegane?”

“I don’t know. The Queen distrusts House Stark but Lord Tyrion has been a friend to us, strange as that sounds.”

“Lord Stokeworth wishes to meet with you privately.”

“It would be more appropriate for him to meet privately with Lord Stark.”

“I said the same; but he says he carries a letter from Lord Tyrion, meant for your eyes only.”

“Man was a fool to tell you so, you’ll be going to Bran now thinking it’s some Lannister plot.  Or have you been to him all ready?”

“Come Clegane, you’re no more a Lannister man than I am. Not now.  Bran would flay me as though he we were a Bolton if I ever suggested it; and your lady wife and the lady Arya would likely take to me with daggers.  I may be an old man but I’ve more value for my life than that.”

“The Starks know you for a loyal man Lord Wyman.  They would not punish you for showing concern for them.”

“A man loyal to his liege does not seek to make an enemy of other men loyal to his liege, but friends of them where he can.”

“You are right to have faith in me Lord Manderly.  I would die before I let harm come to either of those boys or their sisters.”

* * *

 _Will I never be done with all this cloak and dagger bullshit?_   Sandor is standing on the battlements of New Castle waiting for that asshole Bronn.  It’s dark out so he can’t see much except the shadows of the city, the starry sky and the way it reflects off the water. Thankfully their meeting spot is a good distance from the guard posts and he is thankful for that, not having to make idle chatter, or worry about being overheard. 

“So here we are.” Bronn’s disarmingly cheery voice immediately irritates him.

“Been here a good while … waiting for you.”

Bronn just laughs.  “Both come a long way to get here.  Me from the Imp’s pet sell-sword to Ser Bronn of the Blackwater and now Lord Stokeworth.  You from Lannister Dog to the champion of House Stark, married to the Lady Sansa.  I’m surprised you’re not a lord yourself by now.”

“Could be.  If I wanted it.”

“Take my advice, if the boy offers you a lordship take it, it might make your lady wife like you better.” Sandor doesn’t rise to the bait.  “I mean a girl like she was, she used to be sewing half the day away when she was married to Lord Tyrion.  If she made that for you it’s clear she don’t like you very much.” Bronn gestures to his tunic.  The tunic Arya made him for his wedding.

“That’s all you know,” says a small pissed off voice from the shadows, “I made that for him and Sansa wanted to pick it all apart and re-do it.  She happens to be _devoted_ to him.”

“For fucks sake Arya!  Why are you up here?”

“I couldn’t sleep, so I took a walk,” she says, stepping out of the shadows, but he suspects it’s more than that.  Arya has her ear to the ground as usual, she knows something is up, just as he does.

“Not much of a needlewoman are you?”

“No, I just prefer my needles to have a longer blade.” Arya gestures to her sword strapped her hip.  It’s Jon’s needle that she wears tonight. 

“Your good-brother and I are old friends girl.  I knew your mother, and your sister too when she was in Kingslanding. Pretty little thing she was, you look nothing like her.”

“You were never his friend.  He doesn’t have friends.”

“Arya, Lord Stokeworth is Lord Tyrion’s man.  He brings me a message from Lord Tyrion that I would prefer to read in private.”

Arya shrugged and disappeared back into the shadows.  He tries to listen for the sound of her footsteps but he can’t hear any.  No surprises there Arya can move as quiet as a cat if she wants.

“So where’s this letter?” Bronn hands it to him, and he breaks open the seal.  The lion of fucking Lannister.  _If Tyrion has dared put their secret in writing he will … no Tyrion is not stupid … he would never … the letter must be about something else._ He moves close enough to one of the torches burning on the wall so that he can read the words.

**_Clegane,_ **

**_The Queen is keeping something from me.  Something that concerns the North.  When I prepared the gifts to send north she arranged an armed escort to go with them.  You will have seen it by now and I am sure you will have noticed what I noticed.  There are too many men.  So I have likely increased your initial alarm by sending more Lannister men with them. I sent Bronn too, to give you this letter because he is loyal to me.  I am not sure what orders the Queen’s men have but they are bound for Winterfell.  I know what orders my men have but whether they will follow them if it comes to it I do not know.  Bronn you may count on.  Imagine my relief when Brienne came to Court on her way back north from Tarth to up-date me on the progress of my sweet nephew so I pressed her to travel home in the company of the delegation. So you will have one more Stark sword._ **

**_The Tyrell’s have been much at Court recently so it was not a surprise that the Queen should choose Willas Tyrell as her envoy to Winterfell.  You have doubtless met him by now.  You should know that the Tyrell’s once wanted Sansa for Willas. It was all arranged until my father found out about it and married her to me instead, wanting her and her claim in Lannister hands.  The Queen has also sent old Barristan Selmy, though his purpose is not clear._ **

**_May the gods old and new smile on House Stark._ **

**_Tyrion Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Hand of the Queen._ **

Sandor wonders where old Selmy is, he wasn’t in the yard, so where is he and what’s he up to?  And why has a member of the Queensguard come north when the only remaining member of the royal family is in King’s Landing?

* * *

He goes straight to Bran’s chamber after his meeting with Bronn.

“Whoever thought up your house words was right on the money.  Winter is always fucking coming for the Starks.” Sandor threw Tyrion’s letter into Bran’s lap.  His Lord looked over the paper, folding it when he was finished and tossing it into the grate, watching it closely as the fire consumed it.

“I’ve been dreaming of dragons.”  He says quietly. “I knew it couldn’t be good.  Dragon dreams seldom bring anything good, not even to Targaryens.  Think of Aerion Brightflame and Aegon the Unlikely.”

“You didn’t think to mention this?”

“I dreamt of a dragon taking you from Winterfell, but I haven’t had that dream since you married Sansa.”

“Is that why you married me to your sister to keep me safe from dragons?”

“No.  My dream showed me what losing you would do to her, so I needed a way to ensure you could not be separated. Earlier dreams and several people had told me you were the best husband for her before that. I planned to take my time, to talk to you both first, then the dream came and hurried me along.” Sandor shook his head; he still found Bran’s green-dreams a little hard to deal with.  It wasn’t that he didn’t believe them exactly, it was more like he felt he shouldn’t believe them. “My dreams say a dragon will take a Stark.”

“Who?” Sandor asks, his heart stuttering in his chest at the thought of Sansa, the lone Stark in Winterfell.

“Not Sansa.  Not me.  One of the others. It’s not clear.”

“What does a dragon want with a wolf?”

“Fire and blood.” Bran says quietly.

“With what the Mad King did to your grandfather and your uncle; and what Prince Rhaegar did to your aunt I would say the Targeyons have had enough fire and blood from the wolves all ready.”

* * *

It is the next morning when he manages to catch up with Brienne, he finds her in the yard and leads her up to the battlements where they can see clearly in all directions and don’t risk being overheard.

“I asked you to come and see me yesterday.”

“I am sworn to the Lady Sansa, not to you.”

“I am the Commander of Winterfell’s garrison and the Lady Sansa’s husband.”

“I wondered how long it would take before you’d start throwing your weight around.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed I never stopped throwing my weight around.  For instance I seem to remember telling you it would be best for you to remain at Tarth with your father and your bastard.”

“He’s not-”

“I know woman,” he hissed to be extra certain no one would overhear “I was at your fucking wedding.”  Not that he’d wanted to be but they had been rather stuck for witnesses, after all the groom was supposed to be dead. Brienne having told the Queen he was dead before she’d discovered she was pregnant. So it had just been Jamie, Brienne, Sansa and himself in front of a Weirwood. “What in the hell difference does it make if no one will ever know?” he’d complained.  “We’ll know,” Jamie had said softly, “and some day our son will know.”

“You just can’t stay away can you?” he barked at Brienne enraged by the memory.

“Could you in my place? How many times did J- were you told to leave Lady Sansa in our care?  How many times did you listen?”

“I didn’t listen because I didn’t know you; I knew him all too well; and because Sansa didn’t want me to fucking go.” He doesn’t know how the argument got turned back towards him but he’s not letting it stay there.  “Why in the seven hells did you go to Kingslanding? Why did you agree to travel north with a company of Queen’s men? Are you mad, woman?”

 “I went to see Lord Tyrion to give him news of the boy.”  This much he knows from Tyrion’s letter. “I’ve never lied about who his father is.”

“You didn’t slip him news of anyone else?  You so much as said that cunt’s name where Varys and his spies could hear you and gods help me! It’s not only your neck you’re risking.  Tyrion won’t be able to protect any of us if the truth comes out.”

 “The lie was mine. I own it.”

“Yes, but then you had to drag Sansa into it with you and now we’re all up to our necks in it: me, Jon, Arya, even Bran.  Rickon’s the only one in the dark and you needn’t think that will save him.  The Queen doesn’t trust the Starks despite her smiles and pretty words.  She’s just waiting for them to rebel so she can give the North to Mormont, her slaver knight.”

“That won’t happen.  The North wouldn’t allow it.”

“How could they stop her?  She has fucking dragons.”

* * *

“This trip is a fucking disaster.” Sandor grumbled to Arya as they walked along one of the white paved streets of White Harbour.

“I think Lord Manderly would agree with you. He looked as green as a merman at dinner. He doesn’t like having all those soldiers here anymore than we do.”   

“Why do you think he asked us here in the first place?”

“Bran says it’s to discuss his successor on the council of four and I suspect he’s also hoping that Bran might fall for one of his granddaughters.”

“Poor Bran.  Count yourself lucky his lordship doesn’t have any grandsons for you.”

“Oh no one would marry me.”

“Why not?”

“My reputation is too bad.  Everyone thinks I was a courtesan in Bravos.”

“Who says so?” he asks; hand on his sword but Arya just laughs.

“You can’t help me you know.  Apparently you wed one Stark sister but you bed us both, _Hound_. Poor little Bran is so terrified of you; he obeys your every order.  You’re effectively Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. And once Sansa gives you a son you mean to kill us all and declare your son King in the North.”

“Arya what the-”

“You’d be surprised at the things you hear skulking round a barracks of soldiers at night; it would make your hair curl. Bran gets a lot of sympathy – which he’d hate and everyone wants to know if Rickon’s tasted human flesh.”

“Lord Manderly’s men?”

“No just some of the Lannister men; and some of the Queen’s men. I don’t mind for myself.  I don’t want a husband.”

“Someday you might.”

“I won’t. I just want to be a Stark in Winterfell with my family.”

“Arya.  You shouldn’t listen to such things and you certainly shouldn’t repeat them.  What would Bran say?”

“You don’t think I keep all of this to myself do you?  Everything I hear, Bran hears.”

“Arya, he’s fourteen!”

“Almost a man grown, Lord Stark of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

He makes a sound of exasperation.  “Is that why you’ve dragged me down into the town? For more spying?”

“No, I’m taking you shopping.”

“Shopping?”

“Yes you’re going to buy Sansa a present.”

“Why?”

It’s Arya’s turn to make an exasperated sound “Because when a husband goes away without his wife he always brings her back a present.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because it’s what my father did when he had to go away without my mother.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all your comments, they are so motivating in making sure I keep up with weekly posts.
> 
> In case you were wondering what Sansa was doing in the last chapter, here is what's been happening at WInterfell...

MEANWHILE AT WINTERFELL

The mornings are the worst.  Sansa wakes early from dreams of strong arms, hungry kisses and gentle caresses that leave her aching for more. It is odd to think that something so new to her has become so necessary.

One morning she wakes to a warm body beside her and for an instant she thinks he returned to her during the night.  She reaches for him only to find a handful of warm fur, and she opens her eyes to see Nymeria lying next to her, blinking lazily.

Most mornings she gets out of bed and crosses to the window to examine the letter he left for her in the soft morning light. She unfolds the letter and runs her eyes over his orderly penmanship. There are some words she likes to trace over with a finger-tip, words like ‘beloved’ and ‘vow’. She likes to search for hints as to how he forms his letters.  Through careful examination she has noticed his letter o’s come together at the bottom instead of the top; and that he gives the f a tail as though it was a q or a p.  She knows his words almost by heart.  The words that originally made her cry do not bother her now – she knows that all she has to do when he returns is to assure him she does want to be married to him and he will stop offering her her freedom.  She dwells on the good things instead: _he called me his beloved; he said sorry; he promised there would be no others; he asked me what I wanted, he said he was mine._

* * *

One morning when she is in the Great Hall breaking her fast, the Maester brings her a letter.  She unrolls it eagerly, to discover it is from her sister.

**_Dearest Sansa_ **

**_All arrived safely in White Harbour.  Rickon with us.  We ALL love you and miss you.  Your husband most of all. Your wedding presents from KL were waiting for us when we arrived.  I think you should start carrying your dagger again. Will send you a raven when we depart WH for home._ **

**_Love Arya xx_ **

Sansa spends some time musing over the dagger comment.  It is a long time since she wore her dagger.  Sandor gave it to her when he found her at the Gates of the Moon and taught her to use it.  It was that dagger she'd used it to kill Petyr ... Littlefinger ... Lord Baelish.  Just who had he been when she killed him?  The division she'd made in her mind had not helped her then. Petyr and Littlefinger were both dead. Afterwards, seeing how upset she was Sandor had offered to replace the dagger for her but she had refused.  The dagger had not killed Petyr, she had killed him.  The dagger had just been the tool that enabled her to protect herself.  For a long time after that she had kept her dagger close.  She had not hesitated to bring it into service again when she had to, but never again had she used it to kill. She had threatened men with it, cut a few more, and stabbed a black brother in the arm when he wouldn’t take his hands off her. It had taken some time for her to feel safe without it.  Now her sister was telling her she was safe no longer. _Arya thinks I’m not safe.  If I’m not safe it’s because they’re not safe. I am a Stark and a Clegane I must be brave._ She returned to her rooms after she had finished eating and retrieved her dagger.

* * *

Sandor, Bran and Arya have been gone 20 days when Lady Mormont arrives for her visit.  One of the guards on the walls spots her banners in the distance and two hours later the She-Bear and her companions are within the keep. Sansa and Nymeria are waiting in the yard to greet her.

“Lady Sansa,” the She-Bear almost leaps from her horse and bows her head in Sansa’s direction “and which of the direwolves is this?  Nymeria?”

“Well spotted Lady Mormont.”

“My eyes are good as they ever were dear girl.  Now give me a kiss and take me inside, I have had enough of the out of doors to last me a good while.  And don’t be taking me to that drafty hall.  My pride will not be offended by an evening with you in your brother’s solar.  I’d much rather catch up on all your news than be on display to all of Winterfell.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to retire to your room and bathe first?  I could have hot water sent up to you.”

 “You don’t need to be fussing over me girl.”

Sansa leads Lady Mormont inside and through to Bran’s solar where a fire is already burning in the grate.  They each take a chair by the fireside and Lady Mormont extends her boots towards the fire to warm her toes.

“Has Lord Stark’s party arrived in White Harbour yet?”

“Yes, Arya sent me a raven.”

“And are they all well?”

“I believe so. Rickon is with them.”

“Ah, that was not part of the plan.  He is strong willed that one.  For all that he looks like your lady mother he has a touch of the Stark wildness in him.”

“That he does.”

“And how is married life treating you?  You seem well I must say but it must have been hard to say goodbye to your husband so soon.”

“It was ... difficult.”

“I am sorry I couldn’t be here for your wedding.  Marriage is a hard thing for a girl to adapt herself to, especially for those of us who don’t get to choose our husbands.  You wouldn’t know this but my brother chose my husband too.  He did his best and my Martyn was a good man, in his way.  Gave me five fine daughters and he didn’t fuss too much when we all took the Mormont name after my nephew disgraced himself over that Southron trollop.  But you don’t need to hear about her.  I bought you some gifts for your wedding, my Lyanna picked them, she has good taste, got it from my mother.”

“Thank you Lady Mormont.”

“I’ll give them to you tomorrow once they’re unpacked.  But today I had it in mind to give you a different sort of gift.  I know it’s not my place to offer it, but you have no mother and the only women you have to advise you are wildlings, small folk and your hellion of a sister.  I don’t know what wildlings know of marriage even though some have said I’m half a wildling myself but when I was a girl it was customary for older married women to share their knowledge with the newly wed.”

“Thank you Lady Mormont.  It is very kind of you to offer, but-“

“It’s all right my dear girl I’m not going to ask you any awkward questions.  Men are strange creatures my lady and husbands are even stranger.  Alas, the gods have not provided women with the wherewithal to understand them.  A husband wants his wife to desire him but if she desires him too much she must be unchaste.  Very few husbands seem capable of fidelity, something that is expected of every lady.  Even your blessed father - may he rest eternally with the gods - was not the perfect husband.  He left his new wife to go on campaign and came back with a bastard. You will have a harder time than most I should think.”

“Why would you say that?  Sandor is not unkind to me.”

“Of course he is not unkind.  You two have always had a certain respect for one another.  But he is a man who has spent much of his life alone -orphaned young with only that brute of a brother for family.  Such a boy does not learn how a man should behave with his wife.  Cersei Lannister and Robert Baratheon did not have the kind of marriage anyone would wish to emulate and I imagine that is the only marriage he ever observed at close quarters. He has also spent his life as a fighting man – such a man becomes hard, he has no chance to learn softer feelings.  So much among other men and your words become hard too, he has not learnt softer ones.”

“Sometimes I like his harsh way of speaking.”

“As well you may, but I am sure you would not like others to hear him talk to you in such a way.  You may need to soften him some.  Most of Westeros still thinks him a brute.  Not quite as bad as his brother – but a brute none-the-less.  When he came North with you I was fully prepared to dislike him.  When he told that story of his journey with your sister – I didn’t believe the half of it.  Thought it was something he made up to ingratiate himself with you.  So I waited for him to give himself away.  He was always very respectful of you.  He seemed almost relieved when Bran and Rickon reappeared and your claim turned to nothing.  Your brothers soon came to depend on him.  Then Lady Arya returned and backed up his fool story and despite her initial hostility even she warmed to him.  If he had come to do the Starks harm he was certainly playing a long game.  He turned down every reward he was offered – lands, lordships, he asked for nothing other than a modest wage for the services he provided at WInterfell.”

“Are you saying you dislike my husband Lady Mormont?”

“No. Actually I like him well enough, I just don’t understand him.  A man with such a bad reputation who seems to want so little for himself?”

* * *

Some days later Sansa seeks out Lady Mormont. The maester has just brought it to her and she is exceedingly puzzled.  She finds the She-Bear in Bran's solar by the fire, it seems to be her favorite spot since she arrived at Winterfell, sje looks up when Sansa enters the room.

“The Queen has announced her intention to name an heir,” Sansa tells her, holding out the letter.

The She-Bear takes it from her hand eagerly, the whole realm has been waiting for this after-all. The letter is brief and when she has finished it she looks up at Sansa.

“How disappointing, not even a hint of who it might be.”

“I know.  Why send a raven announcing that an announcement is coming?  Why not just make the announcement? Anyway aren’t all the Targareon’s dead?”

“It’s not that boy who landed down south is it?  They said he was an imposter?”

“Yes the one who claimed to be Aegon Targareon, but whoever he was he’s dead.  He died in the Grayscale epidemic I believe.”

* * *

It’s morning again and Nymeria is sniffing around the hearth in Sansa's bedchamber.

“Nymeria! Come away from there before you get all sooty.” Nymeria, who can at times be oddly obedient  lopes across the room to where Sansa is standing, nudging her with her head and dropping a ball of wadded up paper at her feet.  It looks like something someone tried to toss in the fire.  “What do you have there girl?” Sansa asks as she bends down to pick it up.  It is a couple of sheets of paper covered with writing that have been screwed up into a tight ball.  Sansa smoothes out the pages and sees the first two words:

**_My love,_ **

Sansa’s heart gives a stutter as she reads them.  She recognises the penmanship.  It’s her husband’s.  She knows if she was to remove his farewell letter from where she keeps it tucked into the bodice of her dress the handwriting would match perfectly.  Then she sees the first word on the next line and whatever hope she felt dies away.  _This is what you get for snooping_ , she tells herself, screwing the letter back into the tight little ball it was in when Nymeria found it.  _You imagine your taciturn husband pouring out his love for you on paper and what you get is a draft of the love letter he wrote to your sister._ Sansa swallows _, but surely it is better to know everything rather than to be assailed with doubt.  If I force myself to read this I will know the truth.  I can protect myself._ She carefully smoothes out the paper again.  She will read it all the way through this time.  She will not shirk.

**_My love,_ **

**_Arya would call me a coward for this and she does not know the half of it because the letter I will leave for you is already resting on my empty pillow beside you in our bed.  So I am twice the coward because not only am I writing down my feelings for you in a letter, it is a letter you will never read._ **

**_You are sleeping, and here is my first confession.  I love watching you sleep.  When you sleep you remind me of the girl I first met all those years ago before the world hurt you so badly, before I let bad things happen to you. I am sorry for many things but I am most sorry for that, that I didn’t protect you as I should have, as I wanted to._ **

**_Here is my second confession.  I wanted to protect you because I loved you.  I have loved you for a long time.  Before I knew love existed, before I knew I was capable of it, I loved you.  But like I said I didn’t know what love was.  I thought it was weakness and weakness was the one thing life had taught me never to show so I fought it, I fought it hard, and most of the time I lost the fight.  My words, my actions, my hands, betrayed me again and again. I was so angry with you and myself and sometimes your sweetness and kindness would threaten to undo me.  So I would have to push you away harder.  No one could ever suspect the truth, least of all you.  A great lady like you could never love me back and I had no doubt that if you discovered my feelings you would use them to manipulate me.  I know you better now.  I know now that you would have felt sorry for me and tried to be kind to me.  Now I am your husband I suspect you would lie to me and pretend to love me back.  That’s why you will never read this letter.  _ **

**_You are probably wondering why I love you.  If I was just dazzled by your beauty? You are very beautiful.  What a hypocrite I would be to love someone only for their looks!  You are beautiful on the inside too – at first I didn’t believe that could be possible – but you really do care about people – all people, even those that wrong you.  You never want people to suffer.  I know the real reason you don’t want to receive your uncle Edmure’s wife at Winterfell.  I know you don’t want to meet her because you worry you will like her (as your uncle obviously does) and then you will feel disloyal to all those you love who died at The Twins._ **

**_There’s something else I love about you.  I love the wolf that lives inside.  I know someone a long time ago must have told you to hide her because she wasn’t lady-like and that you learned your lesson well because I don’t think you’ve ever let anyone see her.  But I see her.  I don’t know if you know that, but I do see her.  I see the strength and courage you are always trying to hide.  I don’t know if anyone else alive sees how similar you and your sister are – the only difference between you is that you learnt to hide your wildness and she never has.  It hurts me that you and Arya are not closer and I worry it is my fault because you are still angry she left me to die at the Trident, but you must forgive her for that.  Her decision that day gave me a different life._ **

**_I know I should have said no when Bran asked me to marry you.  It wasn’t fair to you for me to say yes.  It was a selfish act.  But you are the only woman I have ever wanted to marry.  You need to stop worrying about other women.  Other women don’t interest me.  Only you.  I love the way you fuck me.  The way you touch me, the way you look me right in the face.  I can’t lie and say you were my first, but you are my best.  You have touched me in places that no woman has ever touched me, you have kissed me in places no woman has ever kissed me.  I never could have imagined it would be as good as it is – on my side at least.  I want it to feel that good for you.  I hope it does.  I want you to want me as much as I want you and to tell me to stop if it’s not what you want.  If you ask me to I’ll always stop Sansa.  Always.  I never want to force you.  I couldn’t live with myself if I forced you.  I’m feeling bad about tonight.  Wishing you’d stopped me that last time._ **

**_I want so badly to make you happy, but I don’t do I?  How could I make you happy?  My youth was gone before I met you and whatever humble looks I might have laid claim to were taken from me before you were born.  You are married to a ruin.  That much is true but I am a better ruin for knowing you.  You saved me Sansa, you did.  When I first knew you the only feelings I knew were pain and rage.  I was loyal to the Lannisters but it was an empty kind of loyalty – I didn’t feel it.  My loyalty to the Starks - I can feel it in my bones._ **

**_Sansa, what I want more than anything is your happiness and I do not think you can be happy with a husband you do not love.  If there is a man out there that you love I want you to go and find him.  If you want to marry him I could take The Black or retire to the Quiet Isle.  I am not as opposed to those two ideas as I used to be. I would do anything you asked_ **

Sansa turns over the second page, but there is nothing else written.  She has reached the end.  Tears are spilling from her eyes, running down her cheeks and falling to dampen the fabric of her gown.  _He loves me.  He really does._


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up shortly after Chapter 25 ended.

AT WHITE HARBOUR

Arya does not agree with his choice of gift but he is happy with it none the less.  A silver bird on a silver chain.  The merchant put it in a velvet pouch that Sandor carries in his pocket.

“Why a bird of all things?  If you had to get her an animal pendant why not a dog or a wolf? Surely a bird will only bring back bad memories.”  Arya is thinking of Baelish and his mockingbird of course but this bird looks nothing like a mockingbird and it has a garnet for an eye.  It is the perfect gift for his own little bird and he believes Sansa will recognise that even if Arya does not.

When they walk into the yard at New Castle it seems rowdier than when they left and a small crowd has gathered in one corner.  Men are laughing and slapping their thighs.

“He’s not giving up.”

“Put one hand behind your back!  Give the little tyke the chance to land a punch.”

Sandor and Arya join the crowd to find out what’s going on.  They are obviously recognised as the crowd seems to part for them and Sandor encounters a few sheepish looks as men move out of his way.  Finally he is close enough to see the cause of the commotion.  It’s Rickon and he is fighting a much larger boy. He is straddling the other boy who is lying on his back in the dirt of the yard fending off Rickon’s ineffectual blows with his raised arms.

“Rickon stop that at once!” Arya yells from Sandor’s side.  Her voice distracts Rickon for a moment and his opponent takes advantage of this to flip Rickon onto his back and pin him on the ground.

“Listen to your sister boy.  You’ll never beat me.”

“I won’t stop until you take back what you said.” Rickon is squirming and kicking his legs trying to get the bigger boy off of him.

“Move along all of you.  Nothing to see here, just youthful high spirits.”  Sandor dismisses the remaining crowd.  Most of the men drift away but remain in the yard.  Very few of them wear the colours of House Manderly.

“Now Rickon.  You will stay still and allow this boy to climb off you and then you will get to your feet and come back into the castle with your sister and me.”

“Not until he takes it back!”

“Whatever he said it doesn’t matter; and I don’t imagine he’s like to take it back.”

“Rickon, you are the heir to House Stark and you’re brawling in Lord Manderly’s yard with a stableboy!” Arya hisses.

“I’m not a stableboy, I’m a squire!  Squire to Ser Clifford Moorsh.” Rickon’s opponent declares sullenly.

“Are you now?  And who is this Ser Clifford?” Arya snaps back.

“Ser Clifford is sworn to the Queen.”

“Then I’ll tell Queen Daenerys what you said and she’ll make you take it back!” Rickon counters.

“Rickon stop this foolishness or I will send for Lord Stark, and we both know what he will say.”

Rickon stops struggling and the older boy makes haste to release him and scrambles away to a safe distance. Sandor holds out a hand to Rickon to help him out of the dirt.  Rickon glares at his hand and climbs to his feet under his own power. When he is standing Sandor rests a hand on the boy’s shoulder only for Rickon to shrug it off.

“You would have fought him if you’d heard what he said.”

“No I wouldn’t, the boy’s a quarter of my size.  Wouldn’t have been fair.  I might have given him a hard stare though.”

“I hate being small.”

“Your sister’s small and she can be intimidating.”

“Arya would have killed him.”

“If I killed every boy who said something stupid neither of you would still be alive. Now come inside and we’ll get you cleaned up before we take you to Bran.” Arya offers her own hand to Rickon, but he refuses it and they follow him back towards the castle.

* * *

 “What did you do about Rickon?” Sandor asks Bran later when they are alone in his chamber.

“He won’t be joining us in the Great Hall tonight.  He will have a bowl of soup and a slice of bread in his room.  Did he tell you what he heard the boy say?”

“Didn’t ask.  Didn’t think I’d want to know.”

“I’m going to tell you anyway.  Apparently he said the Starks might have been a proud family once but now we’re ruined.  Three generations turned traitor.  Lead by a cripple who whores out his sisters to any man with a strong arm. Nothing we haven’t heard before.”

“What did you say to Rickon?”

“I told him it doesn’t matter what people say of us.  We know the truth.  Everyone that supports House Stark knows the truth.”

“Should we be worried if that’s how they talk about House Stark in King’s Landing?”

“There’s no point worrying about something none of us can do anything about.  Lord Tyrell and Ser Barristan Selmy came to see me today. What do you know of the new Lord of Highgarden?”

“Almost nothing.  Sansa’s likely to know more than anyone.  I left King’s Landing before the Tyrell’s came.  Never met Willas.”

“Ser Barristan is not your greatest fan.”

“Well the bastard king did boot him out of the Kingsgard to make room for me.  Though I can’t see why he’d hold a grudge against me for that.  Best thing that could have happened to him.  Of all those cunts in Joff’s Kingsguard he and I are the only ones still alive.”

“I suggested to them that as they had all ready met us here, there was no need for them to travel on to Winterfell, but they insisted.   I assured them Lord Manderly would lend us troops to escort the wedding gifts safely to Winterfell if that was a concern, but Ser Barristan said the Queen had ordered them to deliver the gifts to Winterfell in person.  They could not be persuaded otherwise.  I tried to get rid of Lord Stokeworth and the Lannister troops with the same argument but he would not be moved, most likely because he knew the Queen’s men had not been.  I also learnt that Ser Davos is not here visiting Lord Manderly as I first thought – he is of the Queen’s party and is travelling on to Winterfell with them.  ”

“So when we return to Winterfell we are going to bring Tyrell, Stokeworth, Ser Davos, Ser Barristan and a hundred armed men with us?”

“A hundred and fifty armed men. Lord Manderly is insisting we take fifty of his men as well.”

“So if we aren’t murdered on the road we will arrive at Winterfell’s gates with a hundred and fifty armed men, none of them in Stark colours?  We will have to let your sister know what to expect.”

“Arya will send Sansa a raven before we depart. Lord Wyman and I think it best to leave Rickon here.  He is my heir.  Lord Wyman will keep him safe.”

“I agree, my lord; but whether Rickon will agree is another matter entirely.”

* * *

The next day Sandor is standing behind Bran’s chair in Lord Manderly’s solar.  They are finally discussing the topic they came all this way for: Lord Manderly’s resignation from the Council of Four. 

Sandor finds himself thinking of his time guarding Joff – standing in the background like a human wall.  Trying to hear nothing, to know nothing, to feel nothing.  Whatever was said, whatever was planned, whatever was done it was none of his business. He wonders if he was there when they were plotting Ned Stark’s downfall, he hopes he wasn’t but he can’t be sure, although he remembers Ned’s arrest in the throne room, the massacre of the Winterfell men there and in the Tower of the Hand later.  Ser Barristan, Varys and himself are likely the only men still living who were there that day.  Sansa knows it all.  But how much does Bran know?  How much does Arya know? How much does Rickon know?  The Starks have been good to him but would they still be good to him if they knew everything he had done?  He pushes the thought away – no good ever comes of remembering his time with the Lannisters.  That was not me, that was The Hound, and The Hound is dead.  The Elder Brother left The Hound to die beside the Trident and he brought Sandor Clegane back to life, but though Sandor Clegane does not wear The Hound’s helmet anymore he still wears his face and the sigil of his house.

“Would you accept?” Bran has turned to look at him.

“Accept what?  I am sorry my Lord I did not think you wanted me to listen.”

“Lord Manderly has suggested you as his replacement on the Council of Four.”

“I respectfully decline my lords.  I am not of the North.”

“I told you Lord Manderly.  My good-brother retains his reluctance to accept any honours from my hand.”

“Or from mine it would seem.”

“Honestly I half expected him to refuse when I offered him my sister’s hand. I swear to you it is the first honour I’ve offered him that he hasn’t turned down.”

“Well, only a man of made of stone could refuse the hand of the beautiful Lady Sansa.”

“Then who shall we choose Sandor?  We might as well have your opinion if we are to get nothing else from you.”

“Would you consider choosing Sansa herself?”

* * *

The conference with Lord Manderly over, Sandor escorts Bran back to his chambers.

“I am glad that is settled.”

“To your satisfaction my Lord?”

“Yes, I was glad he agreed that we shorten our visit; though the gods know what I am to do with his gifts.”

“I imagine you will feed them and house them until they die.”

“That much is certain. My lady mother would have been happy to see the Faith of the Seven restored to Winterfell.  What of you?  Are you pleased?  You were baptised in the light of the Seven, you lived among the holy brothers on the Quiet Isle?”

“Not even the Elder Brother could make a godly man of me.  I doubt this Septon will succeed where he did not.”

“What of Sansa?  She was always the closest to the gods of our mother.”

“She likes the hymns.  I hear her humming them sometimes.”

“Let’s hope our new Septon and Septa are musical then.”

* * *

During their stay at New Castle Sandor has frequently found himself wandering atop the battlements looking out at the city of White Harbour and the sea beyond.  After he leaves Bran he finds his steps have taken him there once again.  He likes the sea.  It was the one good thing about Casterly Rock and King’s Landing, it is the one thing that he misses at Winterfell.

“Clegane!”  He turns to see Lord Manderly himself approaching.

“Lord Manderly, I didn’t think to see you here.”

“Probably didn’t think I could climb the stairs – did you?  I might not be fit to travel to Winterfell but I’m fit enough to move about my own castle and I wanted a private word with you.”  Sandor nods for him to continue.

“The North failed your wife and you mustn’t think we don’t feel it.  We loved Lord Eddard and our Young Wolf, but after our best and brightest were slain we lost heart.  She could’ve been the last Stark but no one thought to rescue her.  We all had excuses of course: Lord Umber was a prisoner at The Twins as was my surviving son; Lord Reed had sent his young ones to see to the Broken Wolf.  I sent Ser Davos for little Rickon soon as I could; but we left her where she was.  Lord Umber, Lord Reed or I; we could’ve asked to marry her when the time came.  The three of us are old yes but Lord Umber and Lord Reed have both lost their sons; however we all agreed there was a better candidate, the man who saved both Lord Stark’s sisters.”

“You’re wrong. I didn’t save either of them.  Lady Arya saved herself and Sansa is a survivor too – there is steel and stone beneath her kindness.”

“The Starks are hard to kill.”

“No.  They’re easy to kill, all it takes is a blade.  I’ve seen enough Starks die to know that, but I’ll give my life before I witness the death of another.”

“The girls have both been through much yet Lady Arya is not much changed from what she was.  But Lady Sansa came back different.  When she was young they said she had her mother’s looks. I saw Catelyn Tully when she first came North and she was a beauty but Sansa surpasses her.  The Starks can be a dour lot, it comes of being Kings of Winter – the North’s a harsh place and it takes hard men to rule it.  Look at how serious our Broken Wolf can be and the Lord Commander his brother. Lady Sansa when she was a child she was always talking and laughing and singing and her eyes shone like the sea.”

“I remember when she was like that.”

“Of course you do – I sometimes forget how long you have known her.  The Sansa Stark you returned to us is a sadder creature – do what you can to help her find happiness again. I know you found my gift a little odd but it would gladden this old man’s heart if your marriage was blessed in the sight of the Seven; and for any future children of Winterfell to be raised to respect the gods old and new just as Lady Catelyn’s children were.”

* * *

That night he dreams of the day he and Sansa had a picnic in the Wolfswood.  How he gave into her demands and fucked her deep and hard as she lay on her back on a blanket she’d spread on the grass. The dream lingers when he wakes.  He can almost smell her – the fresh scent that is uniquely hers. He almost remembers how she tasted - of lemon and honey. 


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments. 
> 
> I know many of you have been eager for the reunion of our favorite couple. Your reward for being so patient with me is an extra chapter this week.

AT WINTERFELL

Since the day two of Lord Manderly’s men arrived with Bran’s letter Sansa has been a mess of nerves.

“You know better than to expect them yet milady.” Osha tells her every morning.  “They are likely to be at least a sennight behind the messengers your brother sent.”  So each day she has gone to the godswood to pray for their safe return.  She has lost so much already, she can’t lose them too.

So far this week has been the worst, because it is the first week they could reasonably be expected.  Even though Osha keeps telling her it’s impossible, she can tell by the way Lady Mormont wanders up to the battlements every couple of hours and by the fact one of the guards on the outer wall has been given the maester’s myrish glasses, which he uses to stare off into the east, that they are expected.  The gates are shut tight and the man with the myrish glasses knows to look for three figures at the front of the column.  If he does not see them the gates will not be opened.  Bran’s instructions were clear.  She is expected to be strong.  If they do not arrive free and at the front of the column, Sansa is to let no one in, no matter what threats are made.  If Lord Manderly does not hear from Bran every week he will call the banners in Rickon’s name so she will not have to rely on a raven to carry the news that Winterfell is besieged. Though Bran promised her these were contingency plans only.

She is such a bundle of nerves she can’t even decide on a gown this morning, and has changed her dress three times.  Everything she tried on seemed too constricting, too tight around the chest to allow her to breathe.  Eventually she settled on a blue gown that laced in the front and tied it a little looser than usual.  Her stomach feels like a swarming mass of butterflies even though she has all ready downed three cups of ginger tea.

It is almost a relief when the cry goes up from the outer wall. “Riders approaching!” It carries to where she wanders in the yard pretending she has something to occupy her and she climbs up to the battlements of the inner wall.

“Can you see anything?”

“Not yet milady,” says the guard stationed there.  He is young as almost all their soldiers are.  Maybe Arya’s age.  “It’s the man with the myrish glasses that sent up the call so they must be coming from the east.” Sansa can see the man on the outer wall, still and intent.  _Please, let it be them.  I want no more messengers._

She feels like she has been waiting an eternity when the man calls out again.  “There are many men.  They carry banners.  Red and black. Red and gold. Blue and green.” Sansa sighs and it is not until Lady Mormont reaches over and squeezes her hand that she notices she has joined her on the inner wall.

Lady Mormont does not leave her side as they wait for the next call.  The call that will tell them whether they welcome suspicious guests or must prepare for a siege. “I see the Commander at the head of the column.” Sansa feels something relax deep inside her. It makes sense that he would be seen first, he is a large man.  Bran and Arya are probably only specks beside him. “Lord Stark and Lady Arya ride with him.” The guards seem to surge into action.

“Don’t open the gates yet! Wait till they’re closer, till we can see them with our own eyes.” Lady Mormont instructs.

It is not until they ride into the yard that Sansa realises she has been so worried about them she hasn’t spared a moment’s thought for what she is going to say to her husband, to how she is going to greet him, to how she will say what needs to be said.  He rides in the gate just a fraction behind Bran his hair lank and plastered to the scarred side of his face with sweat.  He tosses his reigns to a stable boy and is the first out of his saddle.  She is waiting to welcome their guests as the lady of Winterfell, Lady Mormont and the master beside her. A very small welcoming party, as most of the distinguished members of Winterfell’s household have arrived in company with their guests. She knows what she is about to do is unseemly, but it is not enough to stop her.

* * *

ON THE ROAD

After half a moon’s turn spent travelling they had stayed only a sennight at White Harbour.  Lord Manderly wanting the Targaryen and Lannister men gone from New Castle, and Bran wanting to get whatever was coming over as soon as he could.  To everyone’s relief Rickon had consented to being left at White Harbor and to Sandor’s relief it had been decided that Brienne would remain with him.

Bran was pale and drawn, so Sandor and Arya had decided to share the guard duty between them.  At night they camped always with Lord Manderly’s men but one of them stayed awake in company with whatever sentries Manderly’s troops had organised.  Ser Davos or Lord Stokeworth sometimes joined them for food or conversation but Ser Barristan and Lord Tyrell kept their distance.  Sandor had seen them talking with Bran or Arya sometimes but neither of them had spoken to him. Ser Barristan acknowledged him with a nod whenever it would have been rude not to but Lord Tyrell avoided looking at him altogether.  Sometimes Arya would sneak about the camp trying to gain more intelligence but she seldom reported anything of interest, with one exception.

“You remember that pointless message from the Queen Lord Manderly showed us before we left?” Arya asked him one night when they were sitting by the fire.

“You mean the announcement that she was about to name her heir?”

“I heard two of the Queens men talking last night.  They think they’ve been sent north to collect the heir and take him back to King’s Landing.”

“That would mean their visit to Winterfell is just a cover story.”

“Yes but what are the chances of that?  That we should be so lucky?”

“What did our greenseer say when you told him?”

“He muttered something about dragons.  I don’t think he’s well.”

“He’ll be well enough once we’re home safe.  He should have rested longer at White Harbour before we started back.”

“Did you tell him that? Try to convince him to stay longer?”

“Whatever this is Arya, he wants it over.  He wants to be back at Winterfell.”

...

The journey home to Winterfell was taking so much longer with all these men and their horses, all their provisions and pavilions.  Two weeks on the road had become three when Winterfell’s walls came into sight.  He heard Arya’s sigh of relief from where she sat on her horse on Bran’s other side.

It took them another couple of hours to reach the gates.  They rode through together.  Lord Stark in front, flanked by his sister and Sandor as the Commander of his garrison.  Lords Tyrell and Stokeworth following with Ser Barristan and Ser Davos.

The yard was full with most of Wintertown and the castle folk there to welcome their lord home. Sandor dismounted first, after all it was his job to organise things.  He turned towards Bran’s mount to lift the young lord from the saddle but before he could take a step a slender form threw herself into his arms.  He wrapped both his arms around her and pulled her tightly to his chest and pressed his lips to the crown of her copper head. 

He didn’t know how long they stood there holding each other in front of everyone but he became conscious that all the eyes in the yard were on them. He saw Lord Tyrell exchange a look with Ser Barristan and he caught the tail end of a quip Bronn made about ‘newly weds’ to Ser Davos.  While Arya and Bran were looking in his direction with sparkling eyes and Winetrfell’s new Septon and Septa with scandalized ones.    He loosened his hold on Sansa, and they both took a step back.

“I am happy to see you well wife.”

“And I you husband,” she answered, bobbing her head slightly, before turning to greet Bran and Arya, who introduced her to their guests.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I don't know if I will ever be able to pull this off again but here is another chapter (phew! three in a week).
> 
> Now Sansan are re-united in Winterfell there had to be another smut chapter so here it is. I stayed up very late last night polishing it up - I had written about four versions of this scene to attempt to get the tone I wanted and I hope this hits the mark.

Sansa suppresses a scream of frustration and fixes her smile in place.

“No Ser Barristan.  I have never heard this room described as drafty.  If you find it so perhaps you could close the window.”

She has only just been able to escape from Lord Tyrell’s presence thanks to the arrival of his bath water when Ser Barristan pounces on her with another pointless question from the room next door. 

She was able to settle Ser Davos and Lord Stokeworth into their chambers easily even though theirs were not so fine as the ones she allocated to the Lord of Highgarden and Ser Barristan.  They have the finest guest chambers in the castle, yet between the two of them they have delayed her for half an hour with small complaints and oversights and fretting over items mislaid on the journey.  She supposes Ser Barristan is old enough to have earned the right to be finicky but Lord Tyrell doesn’t have that excuse.  She is beginning to wish she’d given them worse chambers just so their complaints might hold her interest. 

She doesn’t begrudge Bran for retiring and leaving her to settle their guests - not when he looked so ill - or Arya for remaining at Bran’s side as though she was affixed there with mortar, but she is beginning to resent Lord Tyrell and Ser Barristan very much.

“Of course my lady, how foolish of me.  I have aged much in the time since I last saw you. Though you are more beautiful than ever.”  His gallantry is puzzling and Lord Tyrell’s is even more so.  In between their complaints they have both been showering her with complements.  _Don’t they know I am a married woman and their words are wasted on me?_

“You must excuse me Ser Barristan.  I have much to attend to.  The water for your bath will arrive shortly.”  She excuses herself and hurries away to the Sept.  She delegated Osha to show Winterfell’s new Septon and Septa to the their chambers and then to take them to Sept, saying she would meet them there when she was finished settling their guests.  She has been long delayed but she hopes they are still waiting and is relieved to find them both kneeling in silent prayer when she arrives.  She had the Sept swept out and new candles brought in in anticipation of their arrival because it is a long time since anyone in Winterfell ventured inside.

“My Lady.”  The Septon sees her first and rises at her approach.  He is an older man, gray-haired and kindly looking and he smiles at her.  “Lord Manderly sends his complements, and hopes his unconventional gift pleases you.  Septa Walla and I are to serve at Winterfell in the memory of your lady mother who first brought the light of the Seven to this castle.”

“I am afraid you will not find a large congregation here.”

“What we find is what we find,” the Septon shrugs his shoulders as if it doesn’t matter to him.

“Though we may be stirred to improve on it,” Septa Walla interjects. “For example my lady, you are yet young and have no mother to guide you.  You may be unaware that your conduct in the yard with Commander Clegane was most unseemly and unladylike. It was also a breach of protocol.  He is neither a lord nor a knight and ought to have been greeted after Lord Stark, your sister, and your distinguished guests who surpass him in rank.”

Sansa swallows, trying to calm herself. When she speaks she looks the other woman straight in the eye and her voice is steady.  “Commander Clegane is my lord husband, as far as I am concerned no one surpasses him in rank.  If you wish to stay here you will never again attempt to reprimand me for showing affection to my own husband. Whatever else you seek to improve on here, you will not be improving on me.  Do you understand?  I followed the teachings of my own Septa diligently for years and they caused me nothing but harm, so don’t imagine that I will be seeking your counsel. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have much to attend to.”  She inclines her head in the direction of the Septon and leaves the Sept.  She hurries back to their chambers but they are depressingly empty.  She curses herself for not expecting that.  Sandor is not one to presume.  He will have gone to his old chambers in the guardhouse.  He would not return to their shared chambers without her permission.  She will need to go to him.

* * *

He’s been back in Winterfell for hours but he hasn’t seen Sansa since their embrace in the yard.  His duties are finally completed for the day and he has decided to return to his room in the guard house and bathe prior to seeking her out.  He longs to return to their shared chamber in the castle proper but he will not presume he is welcome.  One embrace is nothing after almost two moons of absence especially given how things were between them when he left. 

He is grateful to find his full bath ready and waiting for him, with soap, towels, and some extra buckets of hot and cold water beside it.  He closes his door and removes his boots, his weapons, his mail and his travel stained clothing and sinks into the water.

His leg is paining him, it gets stiff after days in the saddle and he is grateful for the warmth of the water.  Tiredness seems to seep into him with the water’s warmth.  They have arrived safely at Winterfell.  He has his own men around him.  Tonight the Lannister and Targaryen soldiers will be sleeping encamped outside Winterfell’s walls while he will be inside, with the Starks and men loyal to them.  Ser Davos is an honest man.  Lord Stokeworth, Ser Barristan and Lord Tyrell will be watched, but he doesn’t think Bronn is much of a threat, after all he has always displayed an odd sort of loyalty to Lord Tyrion, and since his return from the east Lord Tyrion has developed his own odd sort of loyalty to House Stark.

Sandor rests his head on the back of the tub and allows his eyes to slide closed.

The sound of the door opening and closing, followed by the bolt sliding home awakens him.  His old instincts surface and he curses his carelessness.  In Kings Landing he would not have bathed without his dagger or sword within reach but he always feels safe inside Winterfell’s walls so his steel is on the other side of the room.  He will just have to rely on his strength to enable him to disarm his opponent. 

“Go away, I’m still bathing.”

“I hoped you might be.  I thought you might like my help.  I could wash your hair or scrub your back.”  There is no mistaking that voice.  He resists the impulse to turn around.  Perhaps he is still dozing and this is a dream.  “Definitely your hair I think, it looks awful from the back.” He feels her drag a hand through the length of his hair from root to tip, her fingertips brushing against his scalp. He can’t think of anything to say so he makes what he hopes is a contented noise.  When she has finished petting his hair she nudges him forward and scrubs his back for him.  He doesn’t think anyone has ever scrubbed his back before.  Then he sees her reach for the dipper and scoop up some water from one of the buckets to wet his hair.  Once his hair is wet he can hear her lathering up the soap in her hands and then she starts rubbing it into his hair gently.  He is hyper aware of every time her fingers make contact with his scalp. His cock is stirring under the water in response to these most innocent of touches.  He almost groans in frustration when she removes her hands from his hair and begins rinsing the soap out.  Her touches become cursory as she brushes his hair this way and that until the water runs clear.  Finally she squeezes out the excess water and dries his hair off with a towel.  Then her hands are in his hair again, tugging it lightly.  Is she playing with it?

“What are you doing?”

“I’m braiding your hair back out of your face.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Because I’m tired of always having to look at you through the curtain of your hair,” she answers. Then she leans in close to his good ear, so close he can feel her breath against his cheek and whispers “Sandor I – I - I want to see you. I want you to see me.  I don’t want anything to come between us anymore. You are my husband and I am your wife.”  He lets a sigh escape him at her words.

“You want to stay married to me then?”

“Of course I do. I – you’re – we’re – Damn it!”

“What?”

“I just messed up your braid. I need to start again.” He doesn’t object, he likes feeling her fingers in his hair as she undoes her work and starts again. He closes his eyes to focus on the sensation.  Her hands still all too soon.

“There we go.  I’m all done.” She says and he feels her lips against the back of his neck as she kisses him there.

“Little bird, don’t go.”

“I won’t I- I- I missed you. Did you miss me?”

“Yes.” The word seems inadequate but any words would be, as he is totally unable to describe what being apart from her feels like.

“I missed you so much it hurt and when Bran’s letter came I was so scared.  Please don’t die.” She wraps her arms around his neck from behind and he feels her rest her chin on his shoulder.

“I don’t want you to worry about me.  I’m not important enough to kill.  If I die it’ll be protecting you, your brothers, or your sister.” He brings his hands out of the water to caress her forearms, trying to push her sleeves up so they don’t drabble in the water.

“We’d all prefer it if you lived to protect us instead.”

“I’ll do my best to stay alive for you if that’s what you want.”

“It is. Sandor, would you mind if I – could I – may I join you in the bath?”

‘Of course you may.  Does the little bird want me to wash her back? Or her hair?”

‘No.  I just want to be close to you.” He feels something constrict in his chest in response to her words, the power she has to totally undo him. He doesn’t trust himself to speak so he just raises one of her dainty hands to his lips and kisses it, before he lets go of her arms. She unwraps her arms and rests them on the back of the bath to help her to her feet.

He can hear her moving around behind him.  The sound of her boots on the stone floor, the rustle of her skirts.  He leans back in the tub again, closing his eyes.  When he opens them Sansa is crouched down by the tub looking into his face, wearing nothing but his mother’s necklace.

“You must be tired.”  She seems about to move away but he reaches out and takes told of her wrist.

“Never too tired for you.” 

She smiles and stands up to step into the tub.  Then she lowers herself to sit in his lap. Her back rests against his thighs as his knees are bent up so the bath can accommodate him.

“Should I show you where it hurts when I miss you?” She takes his hand in her own and guides it.  She brings it to rest on her chest first, between her breasts.  “It aches, right here.”  She lifts his hand and guides it to rest on her stomach, “and here.” She takes his hand again guiding it lower under the water until it rests between her thighs “and here.” He can’t resist moving his fingers just a little further to explore her sensitive flesh.  He hears her breath hitch and a moan escape her lips. “Make love to me Sandor. Please.  I want you so much.”

“O Sansa.” He keeps stroking her folds, slipping a finger inside her caressing her slowly as he feels his own arousal grow. Sansa’s hands are caressing and exploring his body, his arms, his chest, stomach and shoulders, giving his cock an occasional tug. 

“Please Sandor.  I want to feel you inside me.” He places his hands on her hips and guides her slowly upwards, removing one hand so he can position his cock at her entrance.  She lowers herself slowly, so slowly, until he is fully sheathed inside her. His hands are back on her hips, her hands are on his shoulders and their lips and tongues are moving together in the most desperate of kisses.  Sansa is rocking her hips and he loses himself in the sensation of being joined to her once again.  Her hands on his skin, her lips on his. When he comes back to himself it is almost too late.

“O Sansa, Sansa, you need to slow down – please – it’s been too long since we -”

“Touch me Sandor, just touch me.” He snakes his hands down between their bodies to caress her most sensitive spot and he feels her muscles contract around him almost instantaneously and he is relieved because he can't delay his own release a moment longer.

Sansa collapses against his chest, her arms wrapped around his neck, her face buried in the place where his neck meets his shoulder.

“Hold me please,” she asks him and he wraps his arms around her back. “Tighter.” He tightens his hold and she sighs in response.

“So fast, you came so fast,” he says once he manages to regain his breath.

“So did you,” she says into his neck.

“I’ve been a long time without my little bird.”

“Well I’ve been a long time without you too.  Do you want to take me again?” she asks.

“Careful or you’ll have me thinking you missed my cock more than you missed me.”

“It’s a part of you isn’t it?  Like your face,” she says lifting her head to kiss his burnt cheek “and your mouth,” she kisses him on his mouth and he opens it for her deepening the kiss until they are both breathless again, “and your neck,” she kisses her way down his neck until her head is resting back where it was when she started.

“You make a convincing argument. Your kisses are even more convincing. But next time I love my little bird it's going to be in a nice soft bed.”

“Then we should make use of the one in this room.”


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, commenting & leaving kudos - your feedback and just knowing people are actually reading this gives me a thrill.
> 
> This is another smut filled chapter - I thought our favourite couple deserved a descent reunion before the plot rears its ugly head again.
> 
> I am on tumblr as dcleo93 (my blog is called The Pink Geranium).

Sansa lies back on the sheet, closes her eyes and curses herself.  Why couldn't she say the words?  She had opened her mouth so many times only to find them caught in her throat. When was the right time to tell your husband you loved him?  As he relaxed in his bath after a long journey? In the throes of passion? Or was it something that she should whisper over the toast when they broke their fast together tomorrow morning? Should she tell him she’d found his letter? She wanted her declaration to be honest, he would not thank her for concealing things from him.  Had she done wrong to read the letter? 

The mattress shifts beneath her and she opens her eyes to see Sandor has joined her on the bed, all thought stutters to a stop when she meets his eyes. Thought is not possible when he is so close to her, not when she wants him so badly. He is propped on one elbow beside her, his hair still braided back from his face.  In contrast she has taken her hair down and it is spread across the sheet behind her.

He reaches out a hand to stroke her hair.

“So beautiful,” he whispers and her heart thuds in her chest. I should tell him now, she thinks but when she opens her mouth that is not what comes out.

“I’m sorry,” she shocks herself with her words. “It was my fault we argued before you left.  I was jealous and you reassured me but I did not offer you the same.   I am yours Sandor, I am only yours.  I swear it. From the day we were wed until my last day, I promise you.” His arm goes around her then and he pulls her towards him as he rolls onto his back and then both of his arms are around her as he holds her to his chest. She can hear his heart beating under her ear and she thinks it is the best sound in the world. She runs a hand across the plain of his chest, tugging on his chest hair gently as her hand roves upward to pinch his right nipple. He lets out a soft hiss in response and she smiles. “You’re the only man I want.”

“You have me Sansa.” He loosens his hold on her and she lowers her hand to explore his erection.  He is definitely ready for her, and she is more than ready for him but she doesn’t want a repeat of the bath tub with her on top, she wants to be surrounded by him, to feel the raw power of him taking possession of her most intimate places, so she rolls away from him onto her back on the sheet beside him.

“Take me now Sandor, like this.  I want to feel you above me, to look up into your face.”

“As my lady commands,” he says turning onto his side, he reaches out his hand to explore the folds between her thighs and she shakes her head at him.

“I don’t want to come like that, I want to come with you inside me.”

“I promise I won’t make you come.  I just want to explore a little,” he says.  She allows it and is glad she did.  She didn’t think it was possible to want him more than she already does but once he is done with tracing his teasing circles on her most intimate flesh she is more desperate for him than she has ever been.  She feels his absence like a physical pain and begs him to end her suffering.

“Please, Sandor please.”

“It’ll be worth it little bird.  I promise.  I’m going to make you feel so good.”

When he finally gives into her pleas he slides in so smooth and slow that she gasps with the pleasure of it.

“See what I meant?” he whispers.

“Do that again,” she exhales on a sigh. He does, sliding out almost all the way and then back again.  The third time it is not quite as slow and the fourth time it is not slow at all. It is as though his fourth thrust ended all efforts at control. They become a tangle of teeth and tongues, their hands alternately grasping and caressing, Sansa’s legs struggle for purchase before she wraps them around his hips. She finds herself begging him again: to go deeper, to fuck her harder.  When she feels his hand slide down her body to where their bodies are joined she pushes it away.

“Not yet,” she begs him, “not yet.  I want more.” She does, she wants everything he has to give her.  Has she forgotten just how good this feels in his absence or has it never felt so good before? She doesn’t know. She can’t think. “O Sandor you make me feel so good, I never knew I could feel like this. Tell me you love me Sandor.  I love you so, so much.” She doesn’t even know what she has said until he goes completely still and the promise of pleasure which has been building inside her settles like a stone. She fights an overwhelming urge to cry and presses her eyes closed. This was not the right moment.

She feels him move above her, lowering himself until it feels like every part of him is touching every part of her, she feels the heat of his skin, the slight roughness of body hair brushing against her but there is no weight .  He must be using his hands to brace himself on the bed.  She feels his lips graze her cheek on their journey toward her left ear.

“I love you little bird,” he whispers next to her ear and she feels his breath stir her hair.

She brings her arms up and wraps them around his broad back and lets out a sigh. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“O Sandor, I love you, I love you, I love you,” she says pulling his face to hers to claim a kiss, but when she looks up at him she finds his eyes closed, and almost falters, but she takes the kiss anyway and he responds.  In fact his whole body responds and they are moving together once again. The promise of pleasure is back and growing with every thrust as she begs him for more and more and more again and again.  He adjusts his angle slightly and touches something deep inside that turns her cries for more into cries of yes. She is begging him not to stop when her orgasm takes her and she rams her fist into her mouth to stop herself from screaming.  The aftershocks wrack her body and she becomes lost in waves of pleasure.  She sees only stars bursting before her eyes and all she can hear is the sound of her own heartbeat. Then she hears his voice, can feel the warm heat of his breath on her exposed breast.

“Oh fuck Sansa, oh fuck.”

When her eyes are working again she sees him, his head resting between her breasts.  She removes her fist from her mouth and brings it down to caress his hair.

“That was – that was-” she can’t find the right word to describe it: intense, wonderful, sublime, everything seems inadequate.

“I know. I felt it. You came hard.”

“Was it good for you?  I kind of lost my senses at the end.”

“It was more than good.”

“Do you remember when I asked you if it would keep getting better?  I think your answer should have been yes.”

“Definitely yes.”

“Sandor, do you think we could – can we talk a minute?”

“I think we are.”

“I did something bad while you were gone.” She feels him tense against her. “Nymeria found a letter in the hearth, a letter you wrote to me that you meant to burn and I read it.”

He lets out a long breath and the tension leaves his body with his exhalation. “It’s all right Sansa, when I got to White Harbour and saw all those soldiers I wished I’d left that letter for you instead of the other.  I didn’t want to die without you knowing how I felt.”

“So you’re not angry with me?”

“Not angry.”

“But you don’t believe me, do you?”

“Hearing you say the words is enough.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.  I know how much you hate liars. That’s why I told you about reading the letter.”

“I’m not calling you a liar Sansa.  You wouldn’t be the first to mistake passion for love.”

“I am not mistaken in my feelings. And we are not going to argue about this.  I don’t want to waste a second of our time together arguing.  You love me.  I don’t doubt it.  I love you, and if you doubt me now, I _will_ prove it to you. And in the meantime I am going to keep saying I love you and you are going to pretend to believe me.”

“Sounds like you have it all worked out.”

“You’re hard work Sandor Clegane, but never think you’re not worth it. I am going to be the best wife to you.  I am going to make you so happy.”  She reaches down and wraps her arms around him where he still lays, his head on her breast.

“Been happy,” he mumbles.

“What?”

“Happy to marry you.  Like being this close. Love you so much.  So, so much.”

“Me too. Now let me show you again.”

* * *

A soft knock on the door awakens him.  Sansa is a weight on his chest.  She feels heavier than she did when they went to sleep.  He wonders how long they have been lying here like this, ceratainly long enough for the sun to go down as the room is dim.  Thank the gods Bran decided they all needed tonight to rest and postponed the welcome feast to tomorrow night.  The knock at the door comes again. 

“Who is it?” he growls.

“It’s me Commander.  I’ve brought food.  I thought you might like to eat in your room tonight.”

“Thank you Osha.  I’ll be there in a moment.  He eases himself out from under Sansa and the blanket he pulled over them.  He rummages in the trunk at the foot of the bed to find a pair of clean breeches and puts them on before crossing to the door and lifting the latch.

Osha is holding a tray loaded down with two bowls of steaming stew, a wineskin, two goblets, bread, cheese and four small lemon cakes. He is powerless to stop the corner of his mouth from twitching. 

“She is here with you.”

“Aye, she’s asleep.” He holds out his hands for the tray and Osha puts it straight into them.

“She missed you something fierce while you were gone.”  Osha loosens a bag from her shoulder and slides it inside the door.  “Her robe and brushes are inside.  I’ll give you as much extra time as I can in the morning.  Then I’ll come myself to organize her bath and dress her for the day.”

“Thank you Osha.” He takes the tray inside and hears Osha pull the door closed.  He places the tray on the rough table that sits in front of the fireplace and thinks of all the lonely meals he has eaten here. He crosses back to the door and bolts it. 

“Sandor, where are you?” A sleepy voice asks from the direction of the bed.

“Right here little bird.  Osha just brought us come dinner. Are you hungry?”

“O yes.”

“Just wait a few moments then while I find the flint and light some candles.”  He finds the flint where it sits on the mantle by feeling for it with his hands, and the candles beside it.  He lights them carefully and carries them to the table.  Then he crosses to the door and picks up the bag OSha brought for Sansa, tossing it onto the bed.  “Osha brought your robe and brushes.”

“Oh I just love Osha!  Don’t you?” Sansa exclaims opening the bag and pulling out her blue silk robe.

Her words bring a lump to his throat and he swallows to clear it. “Not as much as I love you.” He watches for her reaction, sees her freeze.  Even from this distance he can hear her long exhale of breath.

“It wasn’t a dream then,” she almost whispers and then she comes to him and he opens his arms to receive her, lifting her up so their lips can meet.  She never bothered to do up her robe so they are chest to chest and their kisses are deep and hungry for something more than food.  The declaration of love she makes in return is almost breathless but he hears it and his heart beats faster because of it.  He wants to believe it so badly.  Finally he pulls his lips away while continuing to hold her close. “We should eat before the stew gets cold.”

“Bugger the stew!” she says, but a growl from her stomach gives her away in the same moment.

“That will teach you for picking up bad language from your husband my lady,” he says laughing, and sets her down so her feet touch the floor. “Now sit yourself down in the chair over there and I will serve you some stew and pour you some wine.”

“If I must eat my lord husband I would rather do it sitting in your lap.  That chair looks hard and cold and entirely too far away from you.”

“If my lady wishes it.” He sits down in the chair nearest to him and pulls the tray closer to him on the table. He pats his good leg and Sansa ties her robe and sits down demurely on his thigh.  He hands her a bowl of stew before picking up his own.  Thankfully both bowls are still warm.

“Oh this is good,” Sansa exclaims and he agrees.  It certainly tastes better than anything he ate on the journey home, but having Sansa so close is distracting him.  She leans forward and sets her bowl on the table. “May I pour you a cup of wine husband?” she asks sweetly.

“Please do my lady.” He watches her as she lifts the wineskin and fills first one goblet with wine, then the second. She picks up the first goblet and swivels in his lap to deliver it to his hand.  As their fingertips brush, her thigh makes contact with his swollen cock and they both freeze for a moment staring into each other’s eyes.

“Fuck the wine,”  he says pushing the goblet back into her hand so she can set it back on the table. “Tonight it’s my little bird I mean to get drunk on.” Then she is facing him on his lap, their lips pressed together as they struggle with the lacings on his breeches.

“Please, O please.” Sansa moans as he guides himself inside.  The position is good for both of them.  She can rock her hips and he can thrust. Their mouths are at the perfect level for kissing and he can fondle her breasts, while her hands move from gentle caresses down his chest, sides and the upper part of his back to a tight grip on his shoulders. They are moving slowly, hungry for every last drop of sensation.

“Sansa, love, come for me, please.” He can tell from the look on her face that she is close, he just hopes she is close enough because he can’t hold back for another second.  His climax hits him hard and he cries out with relief when he feels the contraction’s around his cock which mean Sansa was close enough for him to take her with him into bliss. When he is finally able to focus on the world again Sansa is stroking his hair.

“You liked that didn’t you?” she whispers.

“Yes. Tell me you love me.”

“I love you.”

“Wrap your arms around me.  I’m going to carry you to the bed.” He lifts her up, he will never get used to how light she feels in his arms. He walks over to the bed and lays her gently on the sheet.

“You should blow out the candles love.” She whispers and he sighs crossing back to the table and blowing them out, leaving the room in darkness.  He walks carefully back to the bed and climbs in beside her, pulling a blanket over them both before wrapping his arms around Sansa and falling asleep.

* * *

Sansa is first to wake in the morning as a ray of sunlight hits her pillow.  For a moment she doesn’t recognize this bare room but it only takes a glimpse of the man lying beside her to put a smile on her face.  Sandor has come back to her and he is more hers than he has ever been.  Yesterday was full of making love and words of love and she is happier than she ever thought she could be. She studies his face in sleep and observes that there is a slight upward curve to the un-scarred corner of his mouth.  As she watches him she thinks that he is a man who needs and deserves to be loved and she is proud to be the woman who loves him; is even prouder that he loves her back. 

She presses kisses to his forehead and then down the good side of his face to his ear.

“Mmm, little bird stop with your pecking,” he growls in his rough voice which has recently acquired the power to send shivers down her spine.  Without opening his eyes he reaches out and yanks her closer to him. “Cold?”

“No just missing you.”

“I’m right here with you.”

“I know, but I missed you being awake.” He chuckles in response.  My gods he actually chuckled! She has never heard him make such a happy sound before.

“We haven’t really talked about this Sansa, about what it means.”

“It means we’re happy to be married to each other; that we’re going to stay married and build a future together.  It means you’re going to move back into our chambers and we’re going to sleep together and laugh and talk and love each other until we die.”

“Always the optimist little bird.”

“D-d-don’t you want those things?”

“Yes, I want all of them and some other things too. I think you can even guess one, if I give you a hint.” Sansa feels a blush flood her cheeks.  He sneaks a glance at her through his lashes.  “There you didn’t even need a hint.”

“I thought you wanted a serious talk.”

“I do.  I don’t want you to forget that I’m still lowborn, I can’t change that.  I’m freer with my words, my opinions and my temper than I should be.  I often act without thinking. I can be grumpy as hell.  I’m not good at talking. I am so much less than you deserve.”

“I don’t think you’re less than I deserve.  You are the man I want, the man I love. Any other man pales in comparison to you. They’re all short, weak, and silly.  Their eyes aren’t grey, their hair is too short, their shoulders too narrow, and their hands and feet are far too small.”

“Mmmm. If you’re disappointed with their hands and feet I can promise you’d be disappointed with the size of another part of them too, the part that’s hidden in their breeches.”

“I don’t think about what’s in other’s men’s breeches. It wouldn’t be ladylike.  A lady should only be interested in what’s in her husband’s breeches.”

“Finally that Septa of yours gave you some good advice.  I think you should start showing some active interest in what’s in my breeches right now.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, you could start by taking it out of my breeches.” Sansa reaches her hand down under the covers.  The lacings of his breeches are already loose, probably from their activities last night.  She finds his swollen cock with her hands and frees it completely, massaging it with her fingers. “O Sansa, that’s it, use your hand on me. O gods.” She wraps her hand around his cock and moves it slowly up and down, up and down, while she moves her mouth into position above his nipple and begins to suck on it, lavishing it with attention until he uses one hand to move her head to his other nipple. “No one ever sucked my nipples before you,” he murmurs “I never imagined it would feel so good.”

“Are there other things that I could do?  Other things you like?  I don’t really know if I’m doing it right and I – I know you’ve been with – well – with professionals.”

“I love the way you make love to me Sansa. You are so fucking perfect every single time. Gods the way I feel when I’m inside you...”

“Do you want to feel like that again?”

“Sansa we shouldn’t.  You must be sore from yesterday.  Just keep stroking me with your hand and then I’ll use my big hands to make you feel good.”

“It won’t be enough.  I need to feel you moving inside me.  I want you Sandor.  I want you now.”

* * *

He captures her lips with his and rolls her onto her back.  He positions his cock at her entrance meaning to tease her a little with the tip to make sure she is ready but when he feels how wet she is he can’t resist the temptation to sink into her warmth and he is rewarded with a whispered “O yes, yes” from his wife.

“Sandor, tell me you love me.”

“I love you.”

* * *

When Osha knocks on the door Sansa is sitting on the side of his bed wrapped in her robe feeding him bread and cheese for breakfast while she nibbles listlessly on lemon cakes. Not something he’d enjoy in the morning but he leaves the choice to her, after all they only had last night’s leftovers to choose from and he is definitely hungry enough to polish off all the bread and cheese himself.

She gives him a kiss that tastes of sugar and lemon before she gets off the bed and crosses to the door.  She opens it after glancing through a crack in the wood.

“Good morning milady.”

“Good morning Osha.”

“I have brought you a tray to break your fast.  Shall I send someone up to empty the Commander’s tub and refill it for you?”

“Thank you Osha.  I would dearly love a bath.”

Sansa comes in with the tray and Osha follows her.

“Good morning Commander.” Osha says with great civility as though he was not still lying in bed and pretty close to naked under the covers.

“And to you Osha.” Sansa carries the tray to the table while Osha does a circuit of the room.  Opening the windows, lighting the fire and picking up the clothes he discarded last night before bathing. Sansa’s clothes are neatly folded away on a stool by the bed but Osha takes those too. 

“I will take your clothes for washing and organise your bath.  Then I will come back with fresh clothes and to assist you myself.”

“Thank you Osha, you are an angel. Love, you must get up.  Osha has brought us porridge with honey and nuts! Oh and ginger tea!” Sansa exclaims.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, commenting and leaving kudos. 
> 
> This chapter moves the plot a little further forward. There are some hints here of what is to come. There is also a bit of smut at the end.
> 
> Thanks to those of you who have started following me on tumblr.

Sansa emerges from the Guard House carrying an armful of linen. Osha, behind her is likewise loaded down.

She scans the yard for a glimpse of Sandor - Osha sent him away before she helped Sansa with her bath – but he is nowhere in sight.

“O thank the gods Sansa!” Arya comes running up to her and pulls some of the linen from her grasp.

“Arya, Where are our guests?  Osha said you were looking after them.”

“Lord Stokeworth has gone into Wintertown, Ser Davos is in the library and Lord Tyrell and Ser Barristan have gone to check on their troops.  I took the opportunity to get away.  Please tell me you can take over.  Lord Tyrell has been asking for you for hours.”

“Why? Is there something else he needs for his chambers?”

“I don’t think so.  Osha went to him first thing this morning to make sure he had everything he needed. He was talking about his sister a good deal, saying you were just as she had described you.  Was she a friend of yours?”

“I had no friends in King’s Landing.” _Or at least I had one_ , she thinks _but he was gone before Margaery Tyrell came._

“Sorry Sansa.  I forgot.  I know you don’t like to talk about that time.”

“It’s fine Arya.  How long do you think we have before they get back?”

“An hour or so.”

“Then let’s go and see Bran.”

* * *

Sansa and Arya leave Osha in the linen safe with the linens they carried from the Guard House; and make their way to Bran’s solar through Winterfell's deserted corridors. 

“Osha did an excellent job of covering for you, you know?  Did she tell you what you did this morning?”

“I breakfasted with you and Bran in his chambers, I prayed in the godswood, and I assisted her in finishing the linen inventory in the Guard House – which we started yesterday before you arrived.”

“Good.  I promise once our guests are gone I will do anything you ask to give you more time with Sandor as long as you never leave me alone to entertain them like I had to this morning.”

“Are they so bad?”

“Ser Davos is an easy guest as he always is. Having him is as little trouble as having Lord Unber, or Lord Reed, or Lady Mormont.  Lord Stokeworth has wandering hands.”

“Not with you surely?”

“No, with the maids.  I told Osha.  She’ll send the wildling women to wait on him from now on.  They’ll soon let him know his advances are unwelcome.”

“What do you think of Ser Barristan and Lord Tyrell?”

“I know Father valued Ser Barristan highly, but I can’t stop asking myself why he’s here.  He’s in the Queensguard.”

“He is here on the Queen’s business. What about Lord Tyrell?”

“I don’t trust him.  He’s rude to Sandor, and he is much too interested in you.”

“He’s probably just curious about me.  We were almost betrothed once.  His grandmother arranged it.”

“You were supposed to marry him?”

“I was.”

“Did you love him?”

“I’d never even met him.”

“I bet you made up pretty stories about him in your head.”

“I did, actually.”

“Sansa.  Did you ...  are you and Sandor..?”

“We’re fine Arya.”

“He missed you while we were away.”

“And I missed him.”

“You did?”

“I did.  I never wanted him to go in the first place remember, that’s why we argued.  I-I missed you too.  And I owe you an apology.  I haven’t been a good sister to you.  When I thought you were dead I told myself I would be kinder to you if the gods sent you back to me but I haven’t been, not really.”

“I know you’re still angry with me about what happened in the Riverlands-”

“I’m not Arya.  The truth is I’ve been a little jealous.”

“Of me?  Why?”

“You and Sandor have become very close and I thought – I thought that-”

“Ick! Sansa you didn’t?”

“What do you mean ‘ick’?”

“Well he’s pretty old.”

“He’s not old!”

“You always say that.  That’s what made me think you liked him more than you let on.”

“So there was never-?”

“Gods no.  I think he’s kind of a one woman man anyway; and he’s ... well ... he’s in love with you.”

“He told you that?”

“No, but it was kind of obvious.”

* * *

Sandor just wants the feast to end. 

Bran sits in the centre of the high table with his family to his right and his guests on the left.  Sansa sits next to her lordly brother, and because this visit is in honour of their wedding, Sandor is seated next to his wife, with Arya on his other side. On Bran’s left sits Lord Tyrell, in the place of honour as the Queen’s envoy, then Ser Barriston, then Lord Stokeworth, and finally Ser Davos. 

The great hall is full for the first time since he came back here with Sansa.  Men in Lannister colours mingle at tables with men in the Black and Red of the Queen’s house, and men in the Northern colours of houses Stark, Manderly and Mormont. Lady Mormont absented herself from the feast citing a chill but Sandor suspects the She-bear is outside somewhere keeping an eye on proceedings.  She hadn’t liked the thought of letting all these soldiers inside Winterfell's walls any more than he had, but it had to be done. Guest right has been in force since they arrived yesterday but it doesn’t make anyone feel as safe as it used to.

They eat first and Sandor is grateful for that as he is ravenous.  Sansa next to him seems to be hungry too.  He notices that instead of wine she is drinking more of that odd tea Osha brought her this morning.  He himself is nursing a single goblet of Dornish Red which he tops up with water, diluting the wine until he can’t even taste it.  He does not want to dull his senses tonight.

Sitting beside Sansa tonight is a revelation.  There are times when her leg rests against his under the table; when her arm touches his on the tabletop and even one memorable moment when she turns to ask him something - he can’t remember what - and her hand brushes his thigh under the table.  He is grateful that no one can see. Whenever she asks him for something it’s “Can you pass the --- love?” Bran smiles at him and he hears Arya trying to stifle laughter on his other side.  It is like his place in the world has shifted.

Finally the meal is over and it is time for the gifts to be presented.  Lord Tyrell presents the Queen’s gifts first.  The Queen has given Sansa several bolts of fine fabric: in blue (the colour of her eyes), in grey (the colour of House Stark) and a type of fabric he thinks is called brocade red with golden roses woven through it. He gets bolts of fabric too, in black.  Thick fabric - probably woollen - to combat the Northern cold.  Sansa is given grey animal pelts presumably to turn into a winter cloak; he gets animal pelts in black.  Sansa receives a necklace of sapphires in gold.  He gets a dagger made of castle forged steel, its hilt picked out in onyx.  Sansa receives a book of songs, he receives a book about the proper maintenance of fortifications.  Something about the gifts troubles him but he can’t quite put his finger on it.

Finally the gifts stop coming and Lord Tyrell, who has stood in front of the high table during their presentation bows to Bran.

“My own gift of ten barrels of Arbour Gold is already in your kitchens.” He announces before he retakes his chair.  Sansa rises and thanks him, for journeying all this way on behalf of the Queen, for his own generous gift, and bids him thank the Queen on their behalf for her largesse.

Then it is Lord Stokeworth’s turn.  He gets up and stands in front of the table just as Lord Tyrell had.  He makes a speech – Sandor doesn't pay much attention to what he says but it seems to amuse the soldiers - and then the first gift is brought forward by a Lannister soldier.  It is – to everyone’s surprise - a gift for Bran. A sword.  When Bronn unsheathes it Sansa drops her goblet, spilling her tea.  Sandor recognises the sword too.  Valyrian Steel.  Ice.

“The original hilt was lost Lord Stark, this is only a replica. But the blade is the same.  The two swords Lord Tywin had made from it have been reforged into the shape of the sword they came from.”

Sandor looks to Bran and Arya who are staring at the sword with the same intensity as their sister.

Bronn sheathes the sword and holds it out to Bran, hilt first. Bran shakes his head.

“Sandor will carry it until Rickon is old enough. He is the sword of House Stark.” Bronn brings the sword to him, and extends it, hilt first once again.  Sandor feels Sansa squeeze his arm as he rises to take the sword. He glances over at Bran, and happens to catch a glimpse of Lord Tyrell’s face.  The Lord of Highgarden looks far from happy.

Next Bronn has another gift for Bran, and the same gift for Arya and the absent Rickon.  All three are given dagger-sized replicas of Ice. Then Sansa is presented with more bolts of cloth in blue, grey, black and yellow, and white for linens.  Two golden and bejewelled goblets, are presented to him, he is thankful they are both free of lions. A golden necklace with rubies is given to Sansa, while a dagger with a golden hilt studded with rubies is given to him. Finally a soldier brings out a casket and Bronn sets it on the table in front of him, laying the key down next to it.  Sandor picks up the key, inserts it in the lock and opens it.  The casket is filled with golden dragons. Sansa gasps.

“Lord Tyrion has purchased Clegane Keep and its lands from you. He knows your home is in the North now.”  Sandor cannot believe it.  As far as he is concerned Clegane Keep has never been his.

Bronn bows then and Sandor thinks the gift giving is over.

“My own gift is also in the kitchens. Ten barrels of Dornish Red.” As Bronn moves towards his seat the soldiers in the hall give a resounding cheer.

Bran gives thanks on behalf of them all this time.  He thanks Bronn for his gift and expresses their thanks to Lord Tyrion for returning Ice to the Starks; for thinking to honouring each family member with a gift; and finally for his generous wedding gifts.

* * *

Sandor slides the bolt home once they are safely inside their chambers in the castle. He can tell from a single glance at the room that Osha has organised the relocation of all his things from his former room in the Guard House.

"Fuck Sansa! What was that tonight? All those sweet smiles, those delicate little touches, your hand on my thigh under the table? Your sister dropped her folk when she overheard you ask me to pass you the peas."

"I wondered if you'd like it."

"You shouldn’t do that Sansa, people’ll think less of you."

"No one who matters will.  I want them to see how much I care for you."

"That Speta was glaring at us."

"She can glare all she likes. A lady should show affection for her lord husband."

"And what of a husband? Would you like me to demonstrate my affection for you?"

"Will you show me your affection as you did last night and this morning?"

"Yes, but tonight I'm going to take my time.  I intend to explore every inch of your perfect body with my fingers and my tongue and then I am going to taste you.  I am going to make you come Sansa. First with my mouth, then with my fingers and then I am going to slide my cock into your sweet, hot cunt and make you come again. You like it when I do that don’t you?"

A breathy yes is Sansa’s only response. And when he looks at her he sees her eyes are wide and he notices her tongue dart out to moisten her lips.  He watches her throat work as she swallows.  “Will you start now?”

He crosses to her and begins to loosen the lacings in the front the of her dress, dipping his head to kiss the tops of her breasts.  They are interrupted by a knock on the door.  Sansa raises her hands to hold his head in place and he smiles against her skin.

“What is it?” she asks.

“The door’s bolted milady.  I’ve come to help you undress.”

“Thank you but I don’t need your help tonight, my gown laces in the front.”

“Goodnight then milady.”

“Good night.”

He finishes undressing her and leads her to the bed nudging her onto her stomach.  He plants a kiss at the nape of her neck and kisses his way down her spine, spreading his fingers to ghost across her shoulders and then her ribs. 

He kisses his way down the back of one leg and up the other before he turns her over.  He begins with the toes of her left foot massaging her calf as he kisses his way up her shin, then her thigh.  Instead of placing a kiss between her thighs before moving to her right leg, he starts with the toes of her right foot and slowly kissing his way up her leg.  This time he places a single kiss between her legs before kissing his way up her stomach to her breasts.  He uses his hands and mouth on her breasts alternately lavishing his attention on one and then the other.  He can feel Sansa’s hands in his hair, hear her breathy moans.  When she arches her hips, his cock presses into her soft flesh. 

“You’re so hard Sandor.  I want you inside me.  Please.”

“Not yet little bird.”

“Please.”

“I’m starving for you Sansa.  I need to taste you.”  He kisses his way down her body until his mouth is where he most wants it to be.  He runs his tongue along her folds, to get a taste of her “O Sansa you’re so wet for me and you taste so sweet” and then he can hold himself back no longer as he explores her with his tongue licking and probing and sucking.  He feels her arch up to him, her hands in his hair.

"That feels good Sandor, so good.  I want to come.  Make me come."

He narrows his focus, sucking and nibbling on her sensitive nub.

"O yes, yes. I like that."

He begins to use his fingers on her too, circling her entrance with his index finger, teasing and stroking.

"O please. Inside me. Please."

He dips inside her with one finger, then adds a second moving his fingers slowly in and out, gradually increasing his speed until  she gasps and he feels her tighten around his fingers.  She hisses out a slow yes as the waves of pleasure subside. He kisses his way back up her body towards her face. Lengthening himself out over her. Her head is tilted back on the pillow, eyes closed.  He lowers himself so every part of their bodies is touching but keeps his weight on his forearms.  She opens her eyes and smiles at him.

“Mmm Sandor you’re so warm.”

He kisses her soft and slow and she opens her mouth for him deepening the kiss.

“I'm so ready for you.”

“Have you forgotten what I said?  I need to make you come again first.”

“Make me come with your cock inside me.”

“Sansa I’ve never heard you use the word cock before.”

“That’s what you call it.  I’d never said the word fuck until I married you.  No one else will ever know I use them, they’re just for us, just for this.”

He slides into her agonizingly slowly never taking his eyes off her face and starts rocking his hips slowly, so slowly.

"This is the way we make love in my dreams," he whispers to her as she holds him close.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow thanks for all the amazing comments last week. 
> 
> Some of my readers provided excellent analysis of the actions of the Tyrells, the significance of the wedding gifts; and the characters of Ser Barristan Selmy - among other things. Thanks for your contributions and the discussion they provoked. I'm sorry my replies were not as long as your comments deserved but I had the most comments ever last week and it took me over two hours to read and answer them all (two solid sessions of an hour each at my desk plus more answers on the go via my phone).
> 
> I know some of you have doubts about why Lord Willas Tyrell would want to marry Sansa given the ongoing rumours about her virtue. Trust me I know why but just in case you doubt my word I have provided a hint in this chapter. 
> 
> WARNING: This chapter contains some unacceptable behaviour by Lord Willas.

A week has passed and their guests have not even talked about leaving.  Lord Stokeworth and Ser Davos largely entertain themselves but Ser Barisstan and Lord Tyrell continue to be demanding company.  They both seem to seek out Sansa’s company in particular, even troubling her with things that would be best handled by a member of Winterfell’s staff.

Lord Tyrell takes a walk every day to help his stiff leg, and he always asks Sansa to accompany him.  Sometimes they walk to Wintertown, or as far as the outskirts of the Wolfswood.  On other days when his leg seems to bother him more they stay closer to the castle. Sometimes Ser Barrisstan accompanies them, sometimes Sansa begs Arya for her company.  She doesn’t like being alone with Lord Tyrell.  She doesn’t like the way he looks at her; and she suspects him of tampering with the Queen’s gifts – after all why would the Queen give her a bolt of brocade covered in golden roses? 

Sansa is worried he’s going to request a favour and ask her to send that bolt of cloth to Margaery in the Maidenvault. It is common knowledge - even in the North - that he has been trying to get his sister released for years, and though the Queen will allow him to send her letters he is not permitted to visit her or to send gifts. 

Sansa has found herself trapped into so many treasons in her short life she has no wish to walk into one with her eyes open.  She has already had the Maester unroll the bolt of brocade and have it checked for concealed items.  She even asked him to cut off parts of the cloth to test them for poisons.

_If Lord Tyrell asks me to do anything for Margaery_ , she thinks, _I will tell him I have to talk it over with my husband and Sandor will refuse him_. Just the thought of her husband is enough to make her smile, and she realises she has rather lost track of what Lord Tyrell has been saying.  He is one of those men who can keep up a steady patter of conversation about nothing at all.  She would once have thought him well brought up, but now she knows she prefers men who are sparing with their words, men who allow her time to think about what they have said rather than those who expect her to acquiesce to their every thought.

Today Lord Tyrell’s leg must be paining him more than usual because they are walking in the godswood.  Ser Barristan is not with them, and for once Sansa has not asked Arya to compensate for his absence as they will not be leaving the castle.

Ser Willas stops under the heart tree and makes a number of comments about its size, its colouring and asks her if all heart trees have such sinister faces carved into them.  Before she can even open her mouth to reply he is off again and talking about the hot springs.

He turns towards her, seems to stumble and then he is kissing her. 

Sansa finds herself trembling.  She never thought she’d be in this situation again, but this man is not Petyr, she is not dependant on him for her survival so she raises her hand and slaps his cheek so hard it makes her palm sting. Then she pushes him away from her, luckily his lame leg makes him unsteady on his feet and he stumbles away from her in an effort to regain his balance

“How dare you?  I don’t know what vile gossip you have heard about me but it is untrue.  I was still a maid when I married and I am faithful to my husband.  You dishonour me, my husband and my brother’s house with your actions.  Do not ask me to accompany you anywhere again for I will refuse.” She turns on her heel and storms away from him, shaking with rage now rather than fear. It was the way he’d kissed her, the way he’d tried to force his tongue into her mouth that had reminded her of Petyr, of that frightened little girl who longed for a champion.  Well, she is stronger now, and she has her champion.

* * *

She finds Sandor in the yard, he has obviously been sparring, she can see the sweat on his brow.  She plaited his hair into a braid before he left their chambers that morning, he likes her to do that now, but some tendrils have worked their way loose during the exertions of the morning to cling to his forehead.  He has removed his heavy armour but is still wearing his mail. She sees the smile light his eyes when he catches sight of her moving towards him, his one perfect eyebrow quirks when she takes his hand.

“Come.” It is the only word she can trust herself to say and he comes with her, his hand returning the pressure of hers as she takes him into the castle proper and upstairs to their chambers.  Once they are inside she gestures for him to sit and then crosses back to the door, sliding the bolt and turning to rest her back against the door.

“Something just happened.  I need you to stay calm when I tell you of it. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Lord Tyrell just kissed me in the godswood.”

“He fucking what?” he asks, jumping to his feet.

“This is not staying calm! I need you to stay calm!”

“I’ll kill him.”

“You can’t.  He has guest right and even if he didn’t I can’t see you put on trial for murder.  I won’t watch you fight for your life in a trial by combat.  Not again.  It was bad enough last time.”

“He just insulted you in your brother’s house.”

“I know.  It was an insult.  To me, to you, and to House Stark. I told him so, after I slapped him.”

“Well done little bird.  You did well.”

“I pushed him too, hard.  He nearly fell over because of his bad leg and I didn’t feel sorry for him, not even a little.”

“Good.  He doesn’t deserve your pity.  Now you don’t want me to get angry, you don’t want me to kill him, so tell me what you do want.”

“You. To listen to me.  To not blame me. To kiss me and take away the foul taste of his lips on mine.” She rubs at her lips with the back of her hand disgusted again by the memory.

“I listened.  I know you are not at fault. And though I am dirty and dusty I will kiss you if you wish it.”

“I do wish it.” In truth she wants more than a kiss, she wants dozens and to feel his strong arms about her and to wrap her own arms around him in turn. What she wants is to be kissed by no one else ever again.

Sandor takes her in his arms and presses his lips to hers and she breathes in his smell, which after his exertions in the yard is predominately sweat, and then she starts to cry.

“Sansa, what is it?”

She finds herself clinging to him tightly almost burying her face in his mailed chest.

“Sansa, you’ll hurt yourself.  Let me take off my mail at least.”

“I can’t.  I can’t let you go.”

“Sansa, did he do something else? Did he hit you?  Did he try to force you to-”

“No, no.  He kissed me just like Petyr used to.  He tried to force my mouth open so he could stick his tongue in there.  The first time Petyr kissed me, I pushed him away and Aunt Lysa saw us.  She summoned me to her.  She said I was wanton and called me a strumpet and a liar when I tried to explain and then she tried to push me out the moon door.  She was going to kill me.  She was my own blood and she almost ... she almost...”

“Sansa,” she can feel him gripping the tops of her arms tightly, “Lysa Arryn was mad as a March hare.  Did you think I would punish you for this?”

“I don’t know.  I don’t know what I thought.  Sometimes it’s like my brain just shuts down; and I go back in time and I’m there again – all alone.  Trying to stay alive, not because I want to live, but because I’m afraid of what comes after.  What did I do, to make them think they could kiss me whenever they like?”

“You didn’t do anything.  The fault is theirs.  It has always been theirs. Or mine for not taking better care of you.”

“That’s not true.  You tried to help me with Joffrey, you saved me from the mob, you tried to take me from King’s Landing, you taught me to defend myself, you rescued me from Petyr, you’ve kept me safe for years and years.”

“But I did other things too.  I scared you, I spoke harshly to you, I threatened you, I pulled steel on you twice, I abandoned you.  Gods damn me!  I left you with them.  Everything that happened, The Imp, Baelish, I could have saved you all of that.  Then I hid my feelings for you for years.  I’d be doing it still, if it wasn’t for you.  I didn’t even ask you to be my wife, I have Lord Stark to thank for that.”

“I wish you had asked me.” Sansa says, his grip on her arms has loosened now and she curls into him trying to bury her face in his chest once again.

“Well I didn’t. If you are going to press yourself into my chest again I need to get rid of this mail.”

“I don’t want to go back out there.  I feel like I could sleep for a year.”

“Stay here and have a nap then. It will be made clear to Lord Tyrell that he can no longer expect the pleasure of your company.”

“I told him that already. And I’ll have Osha send the only the fiercest spear-wives to wait on him.”   

“That will teach him.  Now let me go so I can kiss you goodbye, then you can bolt the door behind me and go to sleep.”

“You don’t want to stay with me?”

“I do, but it’s doubtful we’d get much sleeping done if the last few nights are anything to go by.” She pulls away from him.

“You once told me that it was ok if I didn’t want to – to – make love with you.”

“I said it and I meant it.”

“Well, I don’t want to, not now.  But I would like to fall asleep with your arms around me.  Since you all arrived here from White Harbor I’ve had the oddest feeling.  Like something bad is about to happen. I’d feel safer knowing you’re beside me.”

“I’ll be beside you for as long as you want me there, but I am taking off this mail.  I should have a bath too – a man shouldn’t come to his wife covered in the dust of the yard.”

“I don’t mind.  As long as it’s you.  I don’t mind anything.”

Sansa loosens her lacings, takes off her shoes and lays down on the bed, while Sandor strips off his mail and boots.  When he joins her in bed he has also changed into clean breeches and a clean undershirt.  He wraps his arms around her and she leans back into him, making a contented sound in her throat.

“I love you,” she says.

“I love you little bird.”

She is almost asleep when he asks her a question.

“Little bird, is there anything I do that reminds you of-?”

“No.  Nothing.  I want you to touch me you see, and I never wanted any of the others to.”

“If I ever do anything you don’t like you’ll tell me won’t you?”

“Yes love.  I’ll tell you.”


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and kudos on the last chapter. So sorry I wasn't able to post last week but here is the latest chapter. This one picks up where the last chapter left off.

Sandor wakes when Sansa stirs in his arms. He opens his eyes to find her snuggling in closer, shifting until her back is pressed against his chest.

“I’m so glad you stayed.  I love waking up in your arms,” she whispers and he kisses the back of her head in response.  She snuggles even closer.  “Sandor, that morning in the guard house, you said there were other things you wanted, will you tell me one?” Staring at the red gold of her hair as he is, he says the first thing that comes to mind.

“Will you let me brush your hair sometimes?” She has spent a lot of time washing and braiding his hair recently so it doesn’t seem an outrageous request and he loves her hair.  He loves the way it smells, the way it feels under his lips and between his fingers.  It is a small thing and he expects Sansa to give her consent easily so her continued silence unnerves him and he says more than he intended. “My mother used to let me brush her hair.  After my mother died my sister used to insist I brush hers, in fact for a while she wouldn’t let anyone touch her hair except me...” He cannot picture his mother’s face but he can still see her hair – waist length and black as a raven’s wing.  His sister’s hair was the same colour but shorter.

“You never talk about them,” Sansa’s voice sounds oddly thick.

“They died a long time ago.”

“But you loved them?”

“Yes.”

She turns to face him and there are tears in her eyes. “My mother loved to brush my hair.  She would often send the maids away so she could do it herself.  It’s been a long time since someone I love brushed my hair.” He kisses her forehead and wipes the tears from beneath her eyes with his thumbs.

“I warn you I’m probably rusty and all I could ever do was brush and braid, that’s why my sister let her maids come back in the end.” He remembers now that his sister had liked the elaborate southern hairstyles Sansa had favoured when she first came to the Red Keep.

* * *

“So, how goes it master of whisperers?”

Arya gives her brother a scowl. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“You know I do it with affection.”

She sits down across from Bran at the table in his solar. “You remember I told you about the tent in the Queen’s encampment, guarded by Unsullied that Ser Barristan visits every day.  Well I’ve found out whose inside, but it doesn’t seem to move us any further forward.”

“Who is it?”

“Silent Sisters, three of them.”

“So the Queen’s envoy travels North with fifty men, Lord Stokeworth, fifty Lannister men, a knight of the Queensguard and three silent sisters?”

“I think the silent sisters joined them when they left White Harbour.  They would have been noticed in New Castle, but if they joined us on the road we would have missed them as we were trying to keep our distance from the Queen’s troops.”

“Anything else?”

“The Maester has finished examining the wedding gifts and found no sign of poison. I just wish we knew if Sansa was correct in thinking Lord Tyrell tampered with the Queen’s gifts.  I had the Maester check Lord Tyrion’s gifts too, after all if Tyrell could tamper with the Queen’s gifts chances are he could tamper with Lord Tyrion’s too.  Lord Stokeworth doesn’t seem like an effective deterrent.  Osha has also increased security in the kitchens.”

“It would make it easier if we knew what we were guarding against; and the identity of our true enemy.” Bran mused.

“We are probably safe in assuming that both House Tyrell and House Targaryen are our enemies.  The Tyrell’s chose to implicate Sansa in Joffrey’s murder. The Queen doesn’t trust us.  She proved that when she confined us to the North, but she hasn’t previously shown any sign of trusting the Tyrell’s either – she had Lord Mace executed and keeps the Lady Magarey prisoner.”

“So did she send Lord Tyrell here to do her bidding or did she send him because she thought he would stir us up?  The gifts still trouble me.  They were all wrong for a married couple; but is that Tyrell’s doing or the Queen’s? And then we have all that black and the absence of autumn yellow.”

“Do your dreams show you nothing?”

“I see dragons, I see thorns, I see wolves and a dog.  I see a wolf being carried away by a dragon.”

“Do you see Sandor taking The Black?”

“The dog in my dreams is black, Arya.  How could I tell? Anyway you and I both know Sandor will never take The Black.  He won’t leave Sansa and he still hates vows.  He won’t even swear himself to me, says swearing himself to Sansa in the Vale was enough.”

“I did wonder if they meant to goad him into committing a crime but he is much harder to goad these days.  Then if they did succeed he would always choose a trial by combat and there are few alive who can match him in skill.  Ser Barristan is too old to stand a chance now and despite his bad leg Sandor is better than he used to be.”

“Is he?  I never saw him fight before you know.”

“Much better.  He used to be an angry fighter – all power and speed and rage.  Now he still has the power and even if he has lost some of the speed he’s lost all of the rage. He fights smart now.  He’s making fine fighters of our men and he’ll make one of Rickon too. The yard is the only place Rickon shows any discipline.”

Bran sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, a gesture more befitting an old man than the boy he still is.  “You know when this is done I’m going to have to do something about Rickon.”

“I know, and you will.” Arya leans across the table to pat his other hand where it rests on the wooden table top. “You’ll give him what he needs.”

“I just hope I haven’t waited too long to do it.”

“You should have more confidence in your decisions.  I mean look at how your last one turned out.  They’ve been so happy ever since we returned from White Harbour.  You should see Lord Tyrell trying to flatter and complement Sansa and only succeeding in irritating her.”

“Do you think that’s part of the plan?  For him to attempt to turn Sansa’s head?”

“Who knows?  But if it is he won’t succeed.”

At that moment there is a knock on the door, and Sansa is announced.  When she enters the room Arya is struck by her appearance.  She wears a black dress with slits cut into the skirt that reveal flashes of a yellow underskirt when she moves and the gold and enamel sigil of House Clegane hangs at her throat.  Her long red hair has been brushed back into one long thick braid, which hangs half-way down her back. She looks so much older. She looks like their mother, even though their mother would never have worn these colours. Arya glances over at Bran and she can almost see her own thoughts reflected in his eyes.

“Bran,” Sansa says, and her voice breaks the spell, because it hasn’t changed.  “I have something I need to tell you.”

* * *

Lord Willas Tyrell stays late at the table in the Great Hall that night.  He wants to be sure his hosts are abed before he ventures to his room.  He doesn’t think he imagined the dark looks directed at him by Lord Stark, Lady Arya, and Clegane during dinner.  And though he frequently looked in Lady Sansa’s direction she did not look at him all evening.  She looked majestic though, dressed in her husband’s colours.   He allows himself to imagine for a moment how wonderful she will look attired in the golden roses of House Tyrell. 

The whole thing had sounded so easy in King’s Landing.  He had never considered that he would have any trouble.  He is attractive enough, rich, and powerful as Warden of the South.  It is a good match for him too.  The Starks - though they don’t know it yet - are on the rise and they can take House Tyrell with them.  Lord Eddard’s multiple treasons against the crown will soon be forgiven for the great service he did House Targaryen and those of Willas’s own father will be forgotten and Magarey will walk free from the Maidenvault.  He may have miscalculated today but he will win in the end.

He has just stepped into the corridor when a hand closes on his arm.  Clegane’s hand.  It is too much to hope that Ser Barristan will not have seen.  The old knight watches him like a hawk.

“Lord Tyrell, Lord Stark requests the pleasure of your company in his solar.” Clegane’s grip is firm, this is more than a request. Willas nods and allows Clegane to lead him to Lord Stark’s private apartments, a place he has never been.

Lord Brandon Stark sits in a high-baked chair in front of the fire.  He may be a boy of fourteen and a cripple but Willas is unsettled by his gaze.  There is something old in the depths of his eyes and in the firelight it is difficult to discern the colour of his irises. Lord Stark’s wolf seems to be asleep on a mat at his wasted feet. Willas has heard rumours that the Starks have their own magic, magic to rival the Queen’s and tonight in the half-light of Bran’s solar with the enormous shadow of Sandor Clegane now looming behind Lord Stark’s chair he can almost believe it.

“Lord Tyell, you insulted my sister today. My sister, the commander of my garrison, and my House.   If you were not here as the Queen’s envoy I would bid you leave for such an offense, but instead I give you a warning - if you place a hand on my sister again I will have one of my men cut it off.”

“What of guest right?”

“A guest is welcome and honoured in the North as long as he behaves with honour.  You have not behaved with honour.  You have already assaulted my sister once.  I will not allow you to do so again and go unpunished.  I give you a second chance out of respect for the Queen but the old gods give no second chances.  My sister was married in that godswood.  You Southerners call us tree worshipers but you’ve forgotten the trees are only totems.  The old gods are everywhere.  They are in the air you breathe and the earth under your feet and they do not like to be disrespected.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the scene between Lord Willas and Ser Barristan I mentioned in the comments to the last chapter is still coming but it will be in next week's chapter.


	34. Chapter 34

“Is he decent?” Ser Barristan asks the girl exiting Lord Tyrell’s rooms.  She is not the girl who usually waits on them, this one is dressed in a garment that seems to be constructed from animal skins and has a couple of knives tucked into her belt.

“As descent as he’s ever likely to be,” the girl answers cryptically as she stalks off down the hallway.

Ser Barristan taps on the door before he enters as an extra precaution.  Lord WillasTyrell is sitting up in bed breaking his fast.  Ser Barristan gives him a look that he hopes conveys his disdain.

“Good morning Selmy!”  Lord Willas sounds as though he is pleased to see him even if that is far from the truth.

“Lord Tyrell.  You were missed in the Great Hall this morning.”

The boy laughs as though Ser Barristan has attempted a witticism.  “I doubt that.”

Ser Barristan clears his throat “The first meal of the day is the only one at which the Lady Sansa is almost always the only family member in attendance.  As such we agreed you would break your fast in the Great Hall every morning.”

“We didn’t agree to anything.  You told me what I was to do, and I did it.  However recent events made it unwise for me to show my face this morning.”

“What events?”

“I may have kissed Lady Sansa in the godswood yesterday.”

“You did what?  Do you have no idea how to woo a noble lady?  The Lady Sansa is not some kitchen wench to be kissed in the woods. Is that why Clegane approached you last night?  Did she tell him?”

“She told the whole family apparently.  Clegane dragged me before Little Lord Stark-”

“What did you tell them?”

“I told them nothing, you and the Queen were clear that nothing must be said until the appropriate moment.”

“What did they say?”

“Lord Stark made it clear that if I were not here as the Queen’s envoy he would have asked me to leave.  Then he made it equally clear that such behaviour towards his sister would not be tolerated, and if I was to repeat my infraction my status as the Queen’s envoy would not save me.”

“What of Clegane?”

Lord Willas shrugged. “The brute barely spoke, left the talking to the boy.” 

Lord Willas returns his attention to his food, cutting a thick slice of cheese and popping it into his mouth. “It occurs to me Selmy, that perhaps you and the Queen are not fully aware of the state of things here at Winterfell.  The Lady Sansa does not seem like an unhappy wife.”

“Of course she does not.  I’ve no doubt the Lannisters and Littlefinger trained her well, she knows she must feign happiness to survive.  What do you think the dog would do to her if she failed to respect him in public? Who is there here to protect her from him? Her brothers are boys still.”

“Lord Stark seems to have his own peculiar kind of menace despite his disability.  Are you sure it is Clegane who rules here?”

“The dog is smarter than he looks.  The Queen sent you here to do her relatives a great service.  To save Lady Sansa from an ill-advised marriage and to direct Sandor Clegane toward a role more suited to his talents.”

Ser Barristan thinks of the two documents he carries tucked into his armour.  He and Lord Tyrell are the only ones in this northern delegation to have seen them, it will not be long now before he can show them to young Brandon Stark. He will be relieved to have everything out in the open.  He knows duplicity does not become him.  He only hopes Lord Willas has not done irreparable damage to their cause. 

“Are you a fool boy?  More Mace’s son than Olenna’s grandson?”

“The Queen told me I was to court Lady Sansa.”

“You do not court married ladies by kissing them in the godswood.”

“But she’s not-”

“Hush boy.  You’ve said enough and the walls may have ears. You must apologise to Lady Sansa for your gross error in judgement.”

“I already intend to Ser Barristan.  I plan to tell her I was so overcome by her beauty that I lost my wits for a moment.”

“Treat her with respect and every courtesy.  We cannot let anyone suspect the truth yet.  Everything is to be revealed at the proper time.  Especially now that Lord Manderly has provided the means to remedy their predicament.  You, the Queen, and myself are the only ones who know the truth in its entirety.  Are you sure you told the fat man nothing?”

“Of course I told him nothing.  I barely spoke to Lord Manderly.  You kept me to my rooms for most of our time in White Harbour.  Why would I risk my sister’s future to say something to Lord Manderly?”

“House Manderly came north from the Reach.”

“That was a long time ago, and it was my family who drove them out back in the days of House Gardiner. House Tyrell has no fondness for House Manderly and House Manderly has no fondness for us.”

* * *

Sandor is in the yard sparring with the men as he usually is in the mornings when the cry goes up from the wall.  A rider is approaching from the East, no banners. He sighs, whoever it is they can accommodate one rider. It might be a messenger from Lord Manderly.  The man needs to place more faith in ravens.

Then a second cry goes up.  Riders approaching, this time from the North.  Flying banners although no one seems able to make out just what the banners are yet.

He groans inwardly as he climbs up to the battlements.  He all ready has 150 extra men - who don’t  seem inclined to leave any time soon - to feed and water and that’s not including Bronn, Ser Barristan, Ser Davos  and Lord Willas.  He wonders who it can be.

“How many?”

“Four Comander.”

“Banners?”

The man with the myrish glasses stares intently into the distance.  “They fly the black banner of the Night’s Watch and the dragon of House Targaryen.”

Sandor stomps down to the solar to tell Bran.

“Jon doesn’t usually visit without telling us but who else could it be?”

 Sandor can think of one person, not that he’s ever come to visit them but it would be just like him to try it at the worst possible time.

“I’ll meet the newcomers myself.  If Jon’s among them I won’t allow the Southerners to fail in their courtesy to Jon because he’s father’s bastard.  He’s Lord Commander of the Nights Watch and we’ll greet him as befits his station.”

“As you command Lord Stark.”

* * *

The rider from the East arrives first.  Or to be more accurate the riders, for though there is but one horse there are two people on it and a direwolf following along behind.  Unfortunately they are two people who should not be here: Brienne and Rickon.

Birenne speaks first. 

“Rickon slipped away one morning when I left him with Lord Manderly’s grand-daughters.  I borrowed a horse from Lord Manderly and started after him.  It took me two days to find him and he refused to return to White Harbour.”

While Brienne has been talking Rickon has leapt down from the horse and wrapped his skinny arms around Sandor’s waist while Shaggy Dog is licking his fingers. May the gods damn them both for knowing how to get to him. 

“Make your explanations to Lord Stark and take the boy with you,” he says trying to feign coldness.

* * *

Sandor wonders if Jon is bewildered by the formality of his welcome, because he does not seem at all like himself.  When he rides into the yard in company with two black brothers and Ser Jorah Mormont from the Queensguard he seems uneasy and almost dazed. His brothers and sisters greet him as though he is a great lord come to visit and present him to Lords Tyrell and Stokeworth, and then to old to Ser Barristan who greets Jon with a warm embrace and by telling him that he has the look of his father. Sandor remembers Lord Eddard had a great deal of respect for old Selmy but he never observed any warmth in their interactions.  To hear Ser Barristan talking about him today you would think they were old friends.

“It’s an honour to see you again Your-” Ser Barristan gushes

“Lord Commander,” Jon interjects hastily.

“Of course, it’s an honour to see you Lord Commander.” Ser Barristan corrects himself with a wide smile on his face.

* * *

When Sandor helps Bran back to his solar afterwards he notices Lord Stark’s face is white.

“It’s Jon,” he says, “they’re here to take Jon.”


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this and leaving comments and kudos. 
> 
> My muse is kind of one fire this week and because the last chapter was a short one (full of plot and empty of Sansan) here is a bonus chapter.
> 
> The chapter starts with a conversation between Sandor and Sansa. 
> 
> Mid-chapter a much anticipated plot point is revealed.
> 
> While the chapter ends with some smut. Hopefully there will be something to please almost everyone. 
> 
> But be warned today's editing might be a bit sketchier than usual.
> 
> Happy Reading :-)

They are in their chambers changing for dinner in the Great Hall.  Osha has managed to throw together an impromptu feast to welcome the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.

“So now we have two knights of the Queensguard at Winterfell.” From the tone of Sandor’s voice Sansa knows it is a complaint.  He hates anything that reminds him of his time in the Kingsguard and now he has two men in white cloaks to avoid in the corridors.  She also thinks that as much as he hates them for his own sake he hates them even more for hers, so her voice is deliberately light when she answers him. She strongly suspects they have enough to worry about in the here and now without dwelling on their ghosts.

“Two knights of the Queensguard and no member of the royal family in sight.  The gods only know who they are supposed to be guarding.  I had Osha place Ser Jorah in the room on the other side of Ser Barristan; the two watchmen are billeted in the Guard House and Jon has his old room of course.”

“Has the She-Bear seen her nephew yet?”

“I thought it best she see him in private.  Their relationship is somewhat strained.  Osha saw to it.”

“What would we do without her?  She is better than any steward.”

“And more loyal too.  Rickon was almost as happy to see her as he was to see you and Bran.  You are his three favourite people.”

“He was only acting happy to see us so we wouldn’t scold him for disobeying, yet again. I was happy to see your brother gave him a good scolding anyway.”

“Rickon didn’t act anywhere near as pleased to see me and I scold him all the time – even though he never listens.”  Sansa sighs.  When all this is over she will need to talk to Bran about Rickon.  Things cannot continue as they are. “Did Jon look well to you?”

“No.”

“He didn’t to me either.  I haven’t seen him looking so ill since he was fighting The Others.  He and Bran both have the calmest of tempers but he seemed all nerves in the yard.”

“And what was Ser Jorah doing at The Wall? Isn’t he supposed to be The Queen’s most trusted man?  He’s been with her even longer than Ser Barristan and that Tyroshi she is so fond of. ”

“Jon carries the valyrian steel sword of House Mormont, perhaps Ser Jorah wants it back.”

“Surely Lady Mormont has more right to ask for that than her nephew does.  The Old Bear died believing his son a disgrace to the family name.  He wasn’t to know Ser Jorah would meet up with some lost Targaryen and bring her back to Westeros to claim her birthright.”

“No, but surely Ser Jorah saved enough men, women and children from slavery when he traveled through Slavers Bay with the Queen to make up for those he tried to sell into slavery here. A man is never beyond redemption.”

“You keep thinking like that little bird.”

“You never were, even if you thought so once.  There was always good in you.”

“If that’s so, it took you to bring it out.”

“No it was always there.  You would not have flayed men as the Bolton’s did.  You did not enjoy cruelty as Joffrey did.  If you killed a man you would have slit his throat or stabbed him through the heart.”

“Not always, I left men to suffer in battle.  I never lied when I said I was a butcher.  That I enjoyed killing.”

“Of course you thought you enjoyed it.  It was the only thing anyone ever told you you were good at.  No one ever told you that you were good at training animals, or good at teaching green boys how to fight, or that you could make a wayward small boy follow you about like a puppy, or that you had a great big heart under all that armour just waiting to be used.”

“Stop it Sansa, don’t make me out to be something I’m not.  You know better than anybody what I am. I never tried to pretend to be something else.  I never wanted you to believe I was something else.  I wanted you to see me for who I was and for you to-”

“I know what you wanted.  You wanted me to love you anyway, and I do. I do see you Sandor, but sometimes you don’t see yourself. Even back when my father was alive I remember trying to explain to Arya that you didn’t murder Mycah that day on the Kingsroad. You were told he struck the prince and you did your duty. If that boy’s blood is on anyone’s hands it is on Joffrey’s... Joffrey’s and mine. If I were as honest as you, people would know I have plenty of blood on my hands.” She thinks of Lady, her father, her father’s men, Septa Mordane, Joffrey, Ser Dontos, her Aunt Lysa, Robin Arryn, Peter...

“You did your duty too, supporting the lies of your betrothed.  How could you do otherwise?”

“I couldn’t have and neither could you. That’s my point.”

“I could have let that boy escape.”

“For someone else to catch?  Someone who would have brought him back alive?  So Cersei and Joffrey could have had his hands chopped off and then have him hung, drawn and quartered as well?”

“Gods they were awful weren’t they?”

“They were and I am thankful they are both in their graves. Now we must go down to dinner or we will be late.”

* * *

He misses sitting by Sansa’s side at dinner.  She sits next to Bran at the family end of the table as she always does as the lady of Winterfell.  Jon has been placed next to her, after much agonising over his placement.  Arya is on Jon’s other side so Sandor sits on the other side of her, with Rickon on his other side.  The guest end of the table is largely unchanged with Lord Tyrell next to Bran, then Ser Barristan, Ser Jorah, Lord Stokeworth and Ser Davos.  Lady Mormont having once again absented herself from the feast.  _She must dislike these things as much as I do_ , he thinks as he adds water to the wine in his goblet.  He looks forward to the day all their guests will be gone and he can afford to take more than a single cup of wine with dinner.

Rickon keeps up a steady prattle beside him.  Talking about what he did in White Harbour after they left, how he snuck away from Lord Manderly’s grand-daughters, the journey home before and after Brienne found him.  The boy is smart and a survivor; sometimes he reminds Sandor of Arya at the same age.  He remembers telling Sansa once that if any eleven-year-old girl could survive on her own in the wilderness it was Arya. 

At that moment Arya taps him on the arm with the handle of her knife.  “Bran wants us all to come to his solar after dinner.  We’re having some kind of family meeting.  Tell Rickon.” Sandor does so and the boy beams at him, happy to be included. Sandor wonders if he should be beaming too, after all he has just been invited to a _family_ meeting. He knows Bran and Jon have been closeted together most of the afternoon; for Jon came to Bran’s solar just as Sandor himself was leaving it.  He wonders if Bran told Jon of his dream.  If Jon can explain it.

They all retire from the Great Hall early.  He hears Bran tell Lord Tyrell that they need some family time.  He doesn’t imagine the look that passes between Lord Tyrell and Ser Barristan afterwards. It looks something like relief.

* * *

Once in Bran’s solar they all sit around the table.  It is to be a serious talk then, not an informal gathering in front of the fire where Jon shares news of The Wall and they tell him of the latest doings at Winterfell.

Bran clears his throat and they all fall silent.  “Jon has something to tell us all.”

Jon stands, he looks greyer than he did this afternoon.  He looks positively ill.  Sandor is afraid for a moment and he knows Sansa is too because she reaches for his hand, to hold it under the table.  _She cannot lose another brother.  She cannot._

“Lord Eddard Stark was not my father,” Jon says.  Whatever they were expecting it was not this.

“Don’t be ridiculous! Of course he was!” Arya exclaims.

“Arya let Jon finish.  This is hard enough for him to say.  You can all save your questions for the end.” Bran speaks in his Lord’s voice, which he seldom does in private. They all look at Jon expectantly.

“Lord Eddard Stark was not my father,” he says again and swallows. “He lied and said he was to save my life because my mother asked him to as she lay dying.  Lyanna Stark was my mother and my true father ... my true father is ... was Rhaegar Targaryen. Tomorrow the Queen will send a raven to every noble house in Westeros legitimising me and naming me as her heir. I have done all I can to try to dissuade her from it, but she will not change her mind.  She sent that first raven to force my hand, to force me to come here and tell you all before you heard anyway.  She sent all these men here to escort me to King’s Landing. Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah are here because a member of the Royal Family must be guarded by knights of the Queensguard.”

“How long have you known?” Sansa’s question is almost a whisper.

“A long time.  Lord Reed told me when he came to The Wall to help us against The Others.  He was there with Fath – with Lord Eddard when my mother died.”

“Is that why you didn’t accept the terms of Robb’s will?” Sansa asks.

“Yes, Robb made that will thinking I was his brother.  That I had a claim to Winterfell as Lord Eddard’s son.  He made it believing Bran, Rickon and Arya were dead and that allowing Sansa to inherit would give Winterfell to Tyrion Lannister. How could I accept knowing that none of those things were true?”

“Why didn’t you tell us before?” The question is Arya’s this time.

“You had lost your father, your mother and Robb.  I didn’t want you to lose me too.  Back then I hoped no one would ever know.”

“How did the Queen find out?” Arya asks.

“Ser Barristan.  On their way to fight at the Trident Prince Rhaegar told him Lyanna was expecting a child.  When Fath- Lord Eddard went south to find his sister and came back with me instead he suspected. Knowing what happened to Rhaegar’s other children on Lord Tywin’s orders he kept his mouth shut. When he came to The Wall with the Queen to fight The Others and met me face to face he told her what he suspected.”

Sansa is gripping Sandor’s hand tightly when she next speaks.  “I am so sorry for what I said about your parents when you last visited.  No one knows the truth of what was between them.  I shouldn’t have-”

“No Sansa.  You told me what you believed from your own experience.  You must not apologise for it.”

“What is Sansa talking about?” Arya demands.

“The Queen told me that Prince Rhaegar loved my mother, and that she loved him, that she went with him willingly.”

Sandor speaks up.  “The Queen may have the right of it.  There were always rumours in the Westerlands that the Lady Lyanna was not as unwilling as Robert and her family might have believed.”

“But you’re still our brother right?” This question comes from Rickon.  Sandor is not sure how well he is following this conversation.  Judging by his question, perhaps not at all.  The boy doesn’t have patience for a lot of talking unless he is the one doing it.

“My mother was your aunt so that makes me your cousin.”

It is Bran who speaks now.  “Jon.  Whoever your parents are our father named you his son before the world.  That makes you our brother forever.”

Jon releases a shuddering breath, “I do want that, to remain your brother.”

‘Jon, you idiot, did you really think we would start treating you like some distant cousin?  Of course you’ll stay our brother.  We, none of us, could ever think of you as anything else.” Arya is adamant, Sansa is quick to agree with her and Rickon relaxes back in his chair.  It seems that none of this bothers him as long as this one fact remains constant.

“With you gone who will take command at The Wall?” Sandor asks.

“There is no denying my departure will leave a leadership vacuum in the Nights Watch, that’s why I resisted the Queen for so long.  We’ve lost so many of our most experienced men so I’ll stay Lord Commander until someone suitable is found.   Apparently the Queen once hoped you might take command there in my place, but that is no longer an option now you are married. In the meantime I have left Jim-one-hand in temporary charge.”

“You left Jamie fucking-”

“Shush love, best not to say his name.” Sansa whispers as she squeezes his hand again.

“I know it’s not ideal but he has command experience.  The men will listen to him and the wildlings like him well-enough.  You should also know that I mean to resolve his situation with the Queen as soon as I get to King’s Landing. I’ll get us all out of that mess at least.”

“Thank you.  I am sorry I got us all into it.” Sansa says smiling at her older brother.

‘It’s fine Sansa.  You fell into it to protect Brienne; but we all followed you with our eyes open.”

“I think Jon has had enough now.  He needs some rest before tomorrow.  I will be informing a few of our people tonight.  Arya will be helping me.  Everyone will need to break their fast in the Great Hall tomorrow morning as that is where Jon will inform everyone else that he is about to be named heir to the throne.” With these words Bran the Lord is back in control.

* * *

Sansa and Sandor walk back to their chambers in silence. He bolts the door behind them.  He turns to see she has gone to her dresser and is taking off her jewellery.

“How do you feel?” She turns and gives him a sad smile.

“It was like losing a brother.  You know we can’t visit King’s Landing.  Who knows when we’ll see him again?  Also, it made me think of my mother.  How she resented Jon all those years for nothing. I don’t want us to have secrets in our marriage Sandor.  I don’t want to keep things from you and I don’t want you to keep anything from me.”

“I always said I would never lie to you.”

“I know, but you did hide your feelings from me for a long time.  Please don’t hide anything else.”

“I won’t.”

“Will you help me with the lacings on this dress?”

He crosses the room to her and moves her hair to one side, planting a kiss on the back of her neck as he undoes her lacings.

“I like that you wore this dress again tonight.”

“Does my lord husband like to see me in his colours?”

“He does.”

“I like to wear them, and you are like to see a lot more of this dress as most of my other good dresses are too tight in the bust now.  I will have to start letting them out.  Is it normal for my breasts to keep getting bigger? I thought they’d stopped.”

“Damned if I know.” He says moving his hands to cup her breasts through her dress.  Sansa leans back into him and gasps when he squeezes them.

“Do that again.” He does. “O Gods Sandor get me out of this dress.  I want to feel your hands on my skin.”

He plants another kiss on the back of her neck and moves his hands back to her laces, until he has finally loosened them enough to push her gown over her shoulders.  It seems to glide down the rest of her body to fall in a pool at her feet.  She steps out of it, picks it up off the floor and drapes it over a chair to air just like the proper little bird she is. He watches her from behind as she removes her chemise and her small clothes.  Then she turns to face him completely naked.  Her breasts do seem larger; in fact her whole body seems curvier, now that he thinks about it.

“Would my husband like me to help him undress?”

“He would.” Sansa crosses to him sliding her hands up under the hem of his tunic to caress his torso.

“You know I’ll not tall enough to remove all of this with you standing,” she admonishes.  He slips off his over tunic, and his mail undershirt and pauses to watch her hands moving beneath the fabric of his undershirt.  “Are you going to take it off?” she asks, and he does. As soon as she does she plants a kiss on his chest, right above his heart.  He loves it when she does that. 

She goes down on her knees to unlace his boots for him.  She does the left boot first resting her head against his left thigh.  Then she does the same on the right.  He steps out of each boot once she has loosened it. 

Then she stands up to her full height to begin on the lacings of his breeches.  Stroking his cock through the fabric she undoes the laces teasingly slowly.  The anticipation is driving him crazy.  Finally she eases his breeches down and he steps out of them, then he sweeps her up in his arms and carries her to the bed. He lays her down and joins her on the bed, giving her breasts some attention before kissing his way down her body until his tongue makes contact with the little nub in front of the entrance to her cunt.  Then he is licking and sucking, probing and tasting while she writhes underneath him, bucking her hips and fisting her hands in his hair as she begs him for his cock.

“Sandor please, please now.” She moans and releases her hands from his hair.  He obeys, ramming his cock into the soft wet heat of her and it is enough to make her come, hard.  She cries out and he claims her lips with his.

“Oh fuck Sansa,” he breathes into her mouth. “Is it really that good?”

“Yes, o yes. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.” He certainly doesn’t want to.  He wants to make her come again, and he does before he finds his own release.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual thanks for reading, commenting and leaving kudos on this work.
> 
> This is a longish chapter and I can't promise multiple up-dates like I managed last week. This chapter has been thorny and parts of it took a turn into an odd direction and had to be pulled back on course.
> 
> The big revelation you have been waiting for (i.e. how the Queen means to separate Sansa and Sandor) is here at last. 
> 
> We also find out just why Ser Davos has come north. 
> 
> There is also some smut at the end. 
> 
> Sansa and Sandor remain unaware of the revelation in this chapter - the next chapter will deal with their reactions.

The following day passes in a blur, from the morning announcement in the Great Hall to the arrival of the Queen’s raven baring the news of his parentage.  Jon has meetings with Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah.  With Lord Tyrell and Lord Stokeworth.  He is taken to inspect all the troops gathered outside Winterfell’s walls: Targaryen, Lannister and Manderly.   Every time he steps out into the yard - followed by both Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah - it seems that half the inhabitants of Wintertown are gathered there to catch a glimpse of him. 

So Jon is grateful to have some respite today (Day Two of his life as a Targaryen) and has hidden himself away - behind the table in his makeshift solar - when there is a knock on his open door.

“I don’t know quite what to call you.” Ser Davos stands in the doorway.  Jon wonders if he can tell this room was a bed-chamber yesterday.

“You’re not alone.  According to this piece of parchment I am now Jon Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne.” Jon picks up the scroll bearing these words and waves it in the air in front of him.  “You may as well call me Jon, at least it’s a name I recognize. Come in Ser Davos, close the door and have a seat.  I apologise for my solar.  My brother- cousin- Lord Stark did not have any warning of this.  He offered to let me use his own solar of course but I couldn’t allow that.  I will have something a little more permanent tomorrow.”

“You know why I’m here?”

“The Queen wants me to marry Lady Shireen.”

“So Ser Barristan informed me last night.  I hardly need tell you I was completely in ignorance until then.”

“The Queen has kept everyone in ignorance, rather to please me I think.  I have spent years putting her off, hoping this day would never come, hoping she would marry again.”

“Do you want to marry Lady Shireen?”

“I hardly know her.  I met her when she was with Ki-Lord Stannis at the Wall but she was just a child.”

“She is now your sister Arya’s age.  She has the misfortune of the Florent ears and her greyscale scars but she is sweet and smart, and very lonely at Storm’s End with only me, my wife and our two youngest boys as company.  She would like to go to Court I think.  Perhaps you could invite her to visit you there? Get to know her a little. It may go some way towards pleasing the Queen until you find someone you like better.”

“You’re a wise man Ser Davos.  Offering me a way to please the Queen and taking an opportunity to end Lady Shireen’s exile while not pushing me to wed her.  You should know the Queen is pushing me.  To wed in general, and to wed Lady Shireen in particular because of her Targaryen blood.”

“Her great-grandmother was a daughter of Aegon V.  The link is there but not close enough to cause you discomfort.”

“Yet it does.  I do not plan to continue the custom of Targaryen incest.”

“Neither did Aegon V; however his son eloped with his daughter and gave him no choice. Your marriage would send a powerful message – it would unite the Houses Targaryen, Stark and Baratheon.”

“I don’t mean to be rushed into contracting a marriage Ser Davos.  I would not wish to prove as inconstant to my wife as Prince Rhae- as my father was to his Dornish bride.”

“That is understandable my lord.  A man’s happiness in life rests very much on his happiness in marriage.”

* * *

“As you know my lord belief in the cult of R’hllor lingers among the small folk of the Riverlands.”  Ser Barristan has just opened his mouth and Bran is already regretting granting him an audience.  He’d hoped Ser Barristan wanted to discuss plans for his departure but instead he is talking about R’hllor.  Bran doesn’t give a damn about the cult of R’hllor in the Riverlands.  He supposes he should. After-all, the sad, vengeful creature that was once his mother was responsible for a degree of the cult’s popularity among the small folk.  He is thankful the worship of R’hllor never took hold in the North despite Stannis’s best efforts. 

Ser Barristan must have noticed Bran’s attention wandering because he clears his throat rather loudly before continuing.  “Some months ago the High Septon approached the Queen and asked that she do something about this before it spreads further and becomes a threat to the faith and the realm.  Shortly before the raven announcing your sister’s marriage arrived at the Red Keep this document was signed by both the High Septon and the Queen and became law in all of Westeros.”  Ser Barristan takes a single sheet of parchment from inside his cloak and lays it on the table in front of Bran.  “This document was signed into law days before your sister wed Clegane. As you will see upon reading it as well as applying to those who follow R’hllor in the Riverlands, it also has the unintended effect of making your sister’s marriage to Clegane invalid.  The relevant paragraph should be obvious.”

Bran scans the document and Ser Barristan has not exaggerated.  The relevant paragraph is totally obvious:

**_None who have been baptised in the light of the Seven can contract a valid marriage before any other god or gods._ **

All the children of his parents - including Sansa - were baptised in the light of the Seven, their mother insisted on it and although Sandor is not a godly man, coming from the South as he does, it is likely he was baptised in the light of the Seven too.

“This situation can be easily remedied,” Bran observes lightly, internally blessing Lord Manderly for his wedding gift.

“Yes, but should it be?  The Queen herself has negotiated a most advantageous marriage contract between House Stark and House Tyrell in which Lady Sansa and Lord Willas will be joined in marriage.  Lady Sansa would be wife to the Warden of the South, the Lady of Highgarden.”  This time Ser Barristan lays several leaves of parchment down on the table. Bran doesn’t reach out for them.  Instead he schools his face into his Lord’s mask.

“Neither of these two documents traveled here by raven,” he gives voice to his observation.  The sheets of parchment in front of him are too large.

“No.  We brought them with us from King’s Landing.”

“Then why wait all this time to show them to me? Why not tell me when we first met in White Harbour? Why allow Sandor and my sister to continue to think themselves married? You understand they have thought themselves wedded and bedded for four moons?  What if she has conceived a child?”

“The time had to be right.  Prince Jon wanted to tell you the truth of his birth in person.”

“What has my brother’s true parentage got to do with this?”

“Your _cousin’s_ parentage has everything to do with the new position of House Stark.  You are now kin to the Queen.  All of you: you, your sisters and your brother.  You have a responsibility to make fine marriages, to advance your House.  The Queen cannot condone an invalid marriage between a young woman she could call her niece and the man whose brother butchered her goodsister and another of her nieces. The niece of a Queen cannot marry a man who isn’t even knight.”

“Sandor is not Ser Gregor Clegane.  He suffered at Ser Gregor’s hands as much as anyone.  He is loyal to House Stark and devoted to my sister; as she is to him.  I could easily make Sandor a lord if that would please the Queen, I have offered to honour him with a title many times, but he has always refused, I am sure he would accept for Sansa’s sake.” 

Ser Barristan does not even acknowledge Bran’s speech, providing instead the answer to a question Bran asked earlier.

“If you turn to page four of the marriage contract you will observe that provision has been made if your sister is found to be with child.”

Bran touches the document reluctantly; turning the pages slowly and scanning page four until he finds the relevant passage:

**_As the Lady Sansa has been living with Sandor Clegane as his wife precautions must be taken to ensure she is not with child.  For one year after she leaves Winterfell she will reside in a convent of Silent Sisters at Oldtown.  Three Silent Sisters and four Unsullied have been sent to accompany her on the road so that her chastity on the journey may be assured._ **

**_If she bears a child during her year at Oldtown, the child will not bear the name Stark, Clegane or Tyrell but the name Snow.  The child will not be permitted to remain with Lady Sansa when she becomes Lady Tyrell but will instead be relinquished into the care of her brother, Lord Brandon Stark of Winterfell._ **

He stares at the words.  _They mean to have me raise my sister’s child just as my father raised Jon_.  “Has Jon seen this?”

“Your _cousin_ , Prince Jon, is as yet unaware of the measures his aunt has taken to honour her Stark relatives.”

Targaryens must have an odd idea of honour if they imagine any part of this can be referred to as honourable. Bran stares over the table at Ser Barristan.  How can the old knight even talk about honour in relation to this? 

He finds himself wishing that Robb was here in his place.  It is not the first time he’s wished the Red Wedding had never happened, only the most recent.  No one would dare make such a proposal to Robb and call it honourable.  Robb would be older now, whole in body, strong and seasoned by battle with an army at his back. Robb would have sons to secure the succession.  Bran has none of these things, and what little he does have the Queen seems determined to take away.

He has no doubt that the Queen is using Sandor’s lack of title and his blood relationship to Ser Gregor Clegane as an excuse.  She can say she seeks to honour her new relatives but he sees the truth.  The Queen is declaring herself the de facto Head of House Stark.  She is telling Bran he doesn’t get to make decisions affecting the future of his family. 

* * *

 Jon’s heart sinks when he hears footsteps approaching down the passageway.  He should have shut the door again after Ser Davos left.  Clearly he is to have no peace this morning. Ghost stirs under the table and wags his tail hopefully.

It is Sansa who appears in the doorway with a tray.

“I bought you a cup of wine and some lemon cakes,” she says, setting the tray down on the table in front of him, “and a nice meaty bone from the kitchen for Ghost.”   She takes the bone from the tray and tosses it onto the floor.  Ghost gets up and crosses to the bone eagerly.

“Thanks San.  Where did you get lemons?”

“Lord Stokeworth brought them.  Another gift from Lord Tyrion.”

“Don’t you find it odd that he is so good to us?”

“He takes his debts seriously. He will be a friend to you in King’s Landing as he once was to me.”

“I will need friends in King’s Landing. I wish I could take you with me, of all of us you know the most about Court.”

“Sandor knows the most about Court, but I will not part with him, not even for you brother.   I do not wish to return to King’s Landing and even if I did we are all exiled to the North: Bran, Arya, Sandor and I.”

“I could ask the Queen to lift your exile.”

“You’ll ask her for enough favours when you tell her the truth about Jim at The Wall.  The exile does not trouble Sandor and I, the South holds bad memories for both of us.  I was a wreck last time I visited King’s Landing, I ran poor Sandor ragged.  I cannot speak for Arya and Bran though.  Bran has never been to the capital.”

“I will ask them.”

“Arya thought you might like to go riding with her later.  Ser Jorah and Lady Mormont will accompany you.”

“Because I cannot be trusted to go riding alone with my sister.”

“Because you are the heir to the throne. I am surprised you have no Queensguard with you this morning.  Where is Ser Barristan?”

“Ser Barristan requested a meeting with Bran – he is there now; and I sent Ser Jorah away so I could take some time to come to terms with all this.”

“I’m sorry Jon.  I know this isn’t what you dreamed of.  That you hoped to meet your mother one day.”

“Only to find out that she’s been lying in the crypts of Winterfell. That as a child I played in front of her tomb.”

“You should ask Lady Mormont about her.  She must have been fond of Aunt Lyanna to name a daughter after her.  I have heard tell she was quite short, she must have got that from our Reed ancestor just as Arya and Rickon have.”

“Poor Rickon.  He will be so disappointed not to grow as tall as Sandor and be as fine a fighter.”

“I know.  But Sandor says he'll still be a good fighter.  That while he may lack the reach of a tall man he will be quick enough to make up for it.”

* * *

Bran hates the litter Sansa had made for him when they first returned to Winterfell.  It normally sits abandoned in a room across the hall from his solar but today he sends two of his guards to get it.  Has them summon a servant to dust it off and then two sturdy guradsmen to carry him down to the crypts as he sits in state inside.  He just can’t stand the thought of being carried in anyone’s arms like a child today.

The two men carry the litter down into the musty depths of the crypt. Another man walks ahead of them lighting the torches in the wall sconces, while Summer trails behind. Bran glances at the tombs of the old Kings of Winter as he is carried past them.  Finally he sees his grandfather’s tomb and those of his uncle and aunt.  He has the men set the litter down on the ground in a position where he can see the tombs of his father and Robb.

“Go stand by the door,” he tells the men.  “Allow no one else to enter.  I will ring my bell when I want you to come and get me.”  He has tucked the small brass hand-bell into the side of the litter so he can be guaranteed privacy without being stranded.  The three men bow and move away.

Bran looks up at Lord Eddard’s likeness.  The stonemason who started the statue had known Lord Eddard and he fashioned the head before he was killed in the sack of Winterfell so the likeness is a good one.  Lord Eddard’s body which was made by an inferior craftsman who had never met his subject is not so good – the proportions are not right.  But at least Lord Eddard’s bones rest in the tomb.  Robb’s tomb is empty.  No one knows where his bones lie.  The stonemason they hired to make Robb’s likeness did his best from Sansa and Bran’s descriptions but the statue looks totally wrong and Grey Wind looks exactly like Summer who the mason used as his model.  Summer flops gracelessly down beside his stone twin.

“The Starks must continue as we have since the first Targaryens came.  We must hold Winterfell and govern the North. We are not mere puppets of the crown.  You both fought against tyranny, to keep what was ours. I cannot fight as you did with swords.  I have only my wits.  The Queen seeks to weaken my position.  I see one way out, but it is not an honourable way and I know you would not approve of it. But it was your honour that got you killed, your honour and the belief that others had it.   Perhaps if I was older, or stronger or willing to go to war I could see other ways but in this moment I cannot.  Even this way is not without risk.”

* * *

“It’s been a long time since we’ve done this,” Sansa whispers into his ear. He is sitting with his back pressed to the headboard while she sits in his lap grinding her hips against him ever so slowly.

“No it hasn’t.  We did it last night and this morning. Have you forgotten already?”

“You know what I mean, sneaking away to our chambers in the middle of the day instead of going to lunch in the Great Hall.  We haven’t done that since you came back from White Harbour.”

“And why is that little bird?”

“Because I have been stuck entertaining Lord Tyrell and Ser Barristan.  Now I have been relieved of any obligation to entertain Lord Tyrell and poor Jon has to put up with Ser Barristan.”

“Though I hear Bran had to put up with him for a good hour this morning.  He had the men take out his litter and take him down to the crypts afterwards.”

“I don’t want to talk about Lord Tyrell or Ser Barristan or even Bran just now,” Sansa says kissing him and bracing her hands on his shoulders to lift herself so he slides out of her before she slides down his length and takes him back in.

“Fuck Sansa!”

“Mmmm.  You like that don’t you?  What I want to talk about is why I like making love to you when the sun is high in the sky.”

“Do that again and you can tell me anything you like.”  She does, impossibly slowly.

“Sansa you’re fucking killing me.”

“You were the one who taught me patience in bed love.  The slower the build ... remember? Now do you want to hear what I have to tell you?”

“Yes, gods yes,” he says caressing her breasts to distract himself from the sudden desire to flip her onto her back and fuck her to an earth shattering climax.

“I get to see all of you when it’s light.”

“Don’t try to flatter me.  We both know I look my best in the dark.  Perhaps you like me to see you in all your glory though?  Because you are glorious – all hair, creamy skin and blue eyes and with that adorable flush to your cheeks.”

“I know you don’t like your face; but trust me the rest of you is nothing to be ashamed of.  I bet most people see you in your armour and think it’s all padding underneath but you don’t need padding.  You really are that big and strong and powerful.”

“Are you saying you like my body?”

“Mmmm.  Very much.” She lets go of his shoulders and runs her hands down his arms, then back up again, only to slide them down his chest.  “Can’t you tell how much I like it? After-all I haven’t been able to keep my hands off you since you came back from White Harbour.”

“Wanting me to give you your pleasure isn’t the same as wanting me.” He doesn’t know where the words came from.  It’s like they travelled back in time to come out of his mouth he wishes he could take them back.  He knows he is not supposed to feel this way anymore, is not supposed to voice his doubts.

“I don’t just fuck you so I can come Sandor.  I fuck you to feel close to you.  I fuck you so you’ll know that I want to be close to you, that I love you.  You’ve told me often enough that words mean nothing I’m trying to show you. One day you’re going to believe it.”

“Today isn’t the day.”

“Then keep pretending you believe it like we agreed.  I’m your wife Sandor.  I love you and I want to make love to you.  I have never felt like this about anyone else.  No one has ever made me feel the way you do.” She pulls him closer as she says the words and increases the movements of her hips until she is riding him harder and harder.

“Fuck Sansa I-”

“Do what you need to love.”

He flips her onto her back and takes control thrusting hard and fast.  She wraps her legs around his hips forcing him deeper.

“Yes love.  O yes.”

“My name Sansa!  Say my fucking name!”

“Sandor. Sandor.  Sandor. Please Sandor.  O yes.  Yes!” She bites down hard on his shoulder as he feels her contract around him and he allows himself to give in to his own release.  He rolls onto his back, taking her with him, holding her close. “Tell me you love me Sandor,” she whispers as soon as she catches her breath.

“I love you little bird” _more than anything, more than my fucking life. Don’t let my fucking doubts screw this up._


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you all have been waiting for this. I only just finished it so I apologise for any typos, grammar errors etc. I have re-written it so many times all ready in an effort to get it to feel right.
> 
> This chapter has a lot of Bran, a lot of plot and we finally get to see Sansan's reaction to the new law and to the Queen's attempt to arrange a marriage between Sansa and Lord Willas.
> 
> Please hang in till the end of the chapter. It will be worth it - I promise.
> 
> There is a sex scene too.

When Bran returns from the godswood Winterfell’s septon is already waiting for him in his solar.  The guard he despatched to fetch the holy man is standing by the door, Bran gestures for him to leave as two other men position his litter, help him out of it and place him in the chair behind the table. Once he is settled they disappear with the litter.

“You have been at prayer my lord?” The septon inquires of him.  He has unusually large, bright eyes that seem to focus on some point in the far distance.

“Yes, in the godswood. I have sought guidance from the old gods and now I seek it from you.” Bran reaches into his tunic and removes a single sheet of parchment which he unfolds and places on the table, sliding it towards the septon. “Ser Barristan from the Queensguard gave this to me this morning.”

The septon reaches out to take the document from the table, and holds it close to his face in order to read it.  Bran decides he must be short-sighted. When the septon is finished he lays the document back down on the table.

“What is the purpose of this law?”

“Ser Barristan said it is to stop the spread of the cult of R’hllor in the Riverlands.”

“Surely a law against R’hllor would be more effective if it mentioned R’hllor? You are concerned about the effect of this law in the North, my lord?”

“Most Northerners - and the wildlings - follow the old gods exclusively, they have never been baptised in the light of The Seven.  In my family it is otherwise.  This law will create a problem for us and for House Manderly.”

“You mean that if Lord Manderly’s grand-daughters wed northern lords, Lord Manderly would want their children baptised in the light of the Seven...”

“...and no northern lord would agree to that if it will eventually force his children to wed before the Seven.  This law places the laws of men above the old gods.  It is an insult to them and they do not like to be insulted. They are harsh and vengeful and the North will not wish to anger them.”

“You believe this law will kill the Faith of the Seven in the North.”

“It may survive in White Harbour where followers of the Seven may marry other followers of the Seven but the kind of household my parents had, where my father built my mother a sept and they raised their children in both faiths will come to an end.”

 “The old gods and the new have existed in harmony for centuries. Even in the South where the old gods are almost forgotten people still make their oaths by both sets of gods. Lord Manderly sent me here that I might continue the tradition your parents started with the next generation of Winterfell’s children-” Suddenly the septon snatches up the piece of parchment again.  He studies the date of the document before letting it fall to the table again.

“My lord, it seems this law has created a more pressing problem.”

“That it has, and your loyalty to House Stark and your commitment to the peaceful coexistence of the old gods and the new will be key in resolving both the immediate and the long-term problems created by this law.”

* * *

They sit side by side in front of the fire – a man and a boy who have agreed to remain brothers -  their direwolves feigning sleep on the rug in front of them.  Jon has put aside each document as he finished reading it until every sheet of parchment lies face-down in a neat pile on the table beside his chair.

“What will you do?”

Bran almost sighs with relief when he hears his brother’s words. He should’ve known he could rely on Jon, but he tests him still further.

“You’re the crown prince.  I’m surprised you’re not telling me to obey my queen.”

“She may be our queen but she’s not the head of House Stark and neither am I.”

“Did you know what she was planning?”

“She spoke vaguely of honouring my family.  I knew she was displeased by Sansa’s marriage as it upset her plans, but I never imagined she’d try to have it set aside.”

“Is that all this is about?  Her unhappiness with the marriage? Or does she seek to weaken House Stark?”

“I don’t know Bran.  I barely know her.  What will you do?”

“I can’t tell you, but I need your promise that you will keep out of it.  I had an old man arrested today and I may yet have to do worse things.  But no matter what I do; I want you to keep telling everyone that I am the head of House Stark and it is not your place to interfere. You may disagree with me in private if you wish but don’t expect it to have any effect.”

“You have a plan then?”

“I do.”

“Who will you take into your confidence?”

“As few people as I can.  It is vitally important that some of those concerned remain totally in ignorance as I need to see their true reactions to what is to come.”

“Is there anything else I can do to help?”

“I want the Queen’s men gone from here as soon as it can be arranged.”

“You understand that when they leave I must go with them.”

“I do and I am sorry for that, but the safety of our family is under threat while Ser Barristan and Lord Willas remain here.  I need them gone and the rest of the Queen’s men too.”

* * *

Bran gestures for them to sit side by side in the two chairs opposite him.  Sansa is concerned.  His face has a grey tinge, even in his brightly lit solar.  She knows he must have had a bad day.  After his meeting with Ser Barristan he retreated first to the crypts and then to the godswood in his hated litter.  Once he’d been carried back to his solar he’d met with the Septon and their brother Jon.  Now, instead of dinning in the Great Hall he’s asked her and Sandor to join him for a private meal in his solar, but there is no food on the table in front of them, only a jug of wine, three cups and some sheets of parchment.

Bran pushes a single sheet of parchment across the table towards them.

“Ser Barristan brought this to me this morning.” Sansa reaches for it and slides it closer, until both she and Sandor can read the words.  It is a short document, simple but the implications strike her like a blow and she has checked the date three times before she feels Sandor stiffen beside her.  She wants to reach for his hand but is worried he will pull away.

“We-we are not married,” she says faintly, and Bran nods slowly, the look on his face is so grave, it makes her afraid. “But that is easily fixed.  We have a Septon at Winterfell now.”

“Ser Barristan also presented me with this.  The Queen has her own idea about how this situation may be remedied.  Apparently she negotiated this contract herself.”  Bran pushes a sheaf of parchment towards her but it is Sandor who reaches for it, Sandor who positions the pages on the table so they can both read them.

“This is madness,” Sansa murmurs when she has finished the first page.  “Lord Tyrell must be a fool to have agreed to this contract.  He promises you half the produce of Highgarden for the next ten years!” Sandor turns to the next page and Sansa reads on but she has trouble focusing, the words dance and shimmer in front of her eyes.  When Sandor goes to turn to the next page she hasn’t finished reading yet.  She touches his hand to signal this and he pulls away as if her touch burns him.

She cannot marry Lord Willas Tyrell, she cannot.  She is wedded and bedded already.  She sneaks a glance at Sandor, his face shows nothing but surely he must be screaming on the inside just as she is. 

“I am so sorry.” Bran says when Sandor has turned the last page and they are staring at nothing but the wood of the table.

“What will you do?” Sandor asks, and his voice is totally flat.

“I need time to decide, to weigh up our options, but you need to stop living as though you are husband and wife.  Sansa may remain in your chambers but you must remove yourself to your old rooms in the Guard House.”

“Will Sansa be safe?  Lord Willas has already made unwanted adcvances-”

“I will do what it takes to keep Sansa safe.  I will ask Arya to send Nymeria to keep her company at night.  I will set a guard on her door if I have to.”

“Name me her sworn shield again.  Set me to guard her door at night.”

“You know I can’t do that. How would it look if I expel you from her bedchamber only to set you to guard it every night?  How would that protect my sister’s reputation?”

“How did it protect her reputation to withhold these documents from us for so long?  Ser Barristan must have had them since he left King’s Landing.”

“You can be sure I asked him the same thing.  I found his answer unsatisfactory.  I am meeting with Ser Barristan and Lord Tyrell in the morning to discuss this further.  In the meantime I require you both to act with propriety.”

* * *

Sandor stays beside her as they walk down the hall away from Bran’s solar.  He makes no move to touch her and she is too afraid to reach out for him least he pull away again.

She knows if she is sent to the Reach she will never see Sandor again.  Dorne is the only place in the Seven Kingdoms further from The Wall than the Reach.  It is highly probable she will never see Bran, Arya or Rickon again either.  The thought of having to lie with Lord Willas and give him sons turns her stomach. 

The halls of Winterfell begin to look strange to her.  She stumbles twice over uneven stones or her own feet, she can’t be sure which.  The third time she stumbles, Sandor extends his arm to steady her and she grabs onto it and doesn’t let go.

* * *

Sansa is clinging to his arm now.  Sandor walks like a man in a dream, aware of nothing but her hand resting on his arm and anticipating the absence of it for the rest of his life. He almost walks past the door to the rooms that – earlier today – were their chambers.  It is only when Sansa stops moving that he recognises where they are.  He opens the door and escorts her inside.  He knows he should grab some of his things to take to the Guard House but instead he finds himself looking around the bedroom like a dog whose food bowl has been unexpectedly moved.

He is confused when he notices that Sansa has bolted the door behind them and is now standing in front of him.

“I should take some things ... but I don’t know what to take,” he says numbly, he must sound like a fool.

“You’re not going anywhere tonight,” Sansa says and she reaches up, grabs his braid, pulls his face towards hers and kisses him.  He is too shocked to respond at first but then she does something she has never done before, she nips his lip - hard - and he tastes blood in his mouth.  Then he is kissing her back. 

Without quite knowing how, he finds himself lying on the bed, on his back, almost drowning in her forceful kisses as Sansa fumbles with the lacings to his breeches, his cock hardening with every attempt she makes to unlace him.  By the time she manages to free him he is hard as a rock and to his surprise she immediately lifts her skirts, pushes her small clothes aside and guides him inside her. 

He feels her teeth scraping against the cartilage of his good ear, along his jaw and down his neck.  He tilts his head back to fully expose this throat to her.  She nips the skin of his neck and he has a flash of memory - the dogs in his father’s kennels exposing their throats to their alpha in submission.   

Sansa’s hands slide up under his tunic.  He feels her nails raking down his sides and then up his chest before she slides her hands down and back out to grip his shoulders over his tunic as her movements grow more frantic.  It feels as though she is trying to drive his cock deeper and deeper into her core. 

His mind reels as he tries to stop thinking about anything else but this moment ... after all it might be the last time they are ever together like this.  He needs to remember how it felt.  He moves his hands to rest on her hips, wishes he felt skin there instead of the fabric of her dress.  He looks up at her face, into her blue eyes which are full of desire and something else.  Her breathing is fast and ragged, her breasts are heaving within the confines of her gown.  Her nails are pressing into his shoulders through his shirt as she grinds against him, rocking her hips. 

She is no little bird tonight, she has the hunger and the teeth of the wolf she has only ever let him glimpse before. Tonight she doesn’t ask him for more as she usually does, tonight she is taking it, taking him, fucking him.  He finds himself saying things to her instead: telling her how good it feels, how he loves being inside her, how he loves giving her pleasure, he finds himself begging her to slow down to prolong their pleasure. When he sees how close she is he begs her to take him with her and she does.  She comes with a cry she makes no attempt to muffle and collapses on top of him fisting her hands in the rough fabric of his under tunic.  He suddenly realises he must have shed his over tunic and his mail on the way to the bed, and then his senses shut down for a moment as pleasure courses through his body.

When he can hear and see again Sansa is still on top of him, trembling like a leaf in the breeze, muttering something under her breath, like an incantation.  He wraps one arm around her shoulders and strokes the back of her head with the other.  He feels his cock beginning to soften inside her and there is nowhere else he would rather be. 

He finds himself imagining the future, and it is a different future to the one he imagined when they lay together in this same bed this afternoon.  Then he imagined that he and Sansa would continue to grow closer, that they would have children and that he would grow old with her by his side.  Now he imagines growing old at The Wall, because he can’t stay here without Sansa.  He can’t sleep alone in his old room in the Guard House where they spent that amazing night, where she told him she loved him and promised that one day he would believe it.

How will he live the rest of his life without seeing her?  After she leaves with the Queen’s men she will belong to House Tyrell and her home will be in the South. He wonders if a child will come in the year she spends at Old Town.  Would anyone tell him if it did?  Would he be allowed to see it? Maybe Arya could bring the child to visit The Wall when it was old enough? No.  Arya will likely join Jon in the South once she is permitted to travel there, and Rickon loves the Queen so he is like to move South too.  _They will all forget me._  

He shakes his head to clear it and that’s when his brain makes the long overdue link between Sansa’s trembling, the sounds she is making and the dampness of his tunic.  Sansa is sobbing into his chest.  He knows this will be hard for her, she will feel bad for the pain she must cause him, but she was not to know how things would turn out.  Even he, who should always have known he wasn’t made for happiness, has allowed himself to forget. 

He pulls her into his chest more tightly with his arm and continues to stroke her hair with his other hand as he tries to brace himself for what is coming. 

“Come on girl, out with it.”

Sansa raises her head from his chest, knocking his hand and arm aside, rearing back like a snake preparing to strike.

“Out with what?”

“Just say it.  I’m big enough and ugly enough to take it.” Though her face is streaked with tears her eyes are dry and there is something in their depths he cannot identify. “You were a maiden when I had you the first time.  It’s only natural that you’d mistake physical pleasure for something deeper, especially when it was so new to you.  You thought you were stuck with me for life so you tried to make the best of it.  You’ve always been one to try and make the best of things with your sweetness and your courtesy.  Now you can take what you’ve learned and make the best of it with Lord Willas.  He’s rich and handsome.  You’ll be a great lady just as you always dreamed of being.  Just as your father and your lady mother always planned.”

“You think I would give you up? You think I would let Willas Tyrell touch me as you do?  You think what I feel for you is something new?  I told you only this afternoon that what we have is not about physical pleasure for me.”

“Then what was that? As soon as we arrived here you got me on my back and fucked me!”

“You seemed to enjoy it.  You told me you did.”

“Of course I did.  I thought you were never going to touch me again.”

“It was you who pulled away from me in Bran’s solar.  You who didn’t reach out for me once we were out in the hall.  You didn’t even give me your arm until the third time I almost fell.  _I needed you._   I needed to feel connected to you.  You’re so hard to reach sometimes.  It’s like your doubts rise up and build a wall between us and I don’t know how else to break it down. Don’t push me away, not now.  We’ve wasted enough time denying ourselves.  This is our one chance to be happy, our one chance to be together, we have to fight for it.”

He struggles to process her words.  “What do you mean ... wasting time ... denying ourselves?”

“I thought you kissed me the night of the Blackwater. I used to think of that kiss when other men would force kisses on me.  It gave me comfort.  Sometimes I’d dream of my wedding night with Tyrion but it was always you in my bed.  When you came for me in the Vale, I thought you meant to take me for your own.  I waited for you to kiss me again, only to realise that you never had. That I’d imagined it all! And then when Bran came back I realised I would have no say in who I married so I could never let you know how I felt.  That I had to bury my feelings for all of our sakes.”

“You’re seriously trying to tell me you’ve been in love with me all this time?  That must be why you were so thrilled when Bran told you about our marriage?  You looked like Jon was leading you to the gallows that day in the godswood.”

“Only because I thought you didn’t want to marry me.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I thought you were in love with Arya.”

“Arya?”

“She’s so pretty and you spent so much time with her.  You were always talking with her and laughing with her and touching her.  Even though you knew I hated you to leave me, you travelled with her to The Wall _every time_ she went to visit Jon.  At our wedding you wore something _she_ made for you.  Even after we married you let her spend the night with you in the Guard House, and you went away to White Harbour _with her_ when I begged you to stay here with me.”

“Sansa, I am so sorry.  I never dreamed ... I never imagined.  You have to know there has never been anything of a ...” he struggled to find the right word: Intimate? Romantic?  Sexual?  He hesitated to put any of those words into a sentence associated with Arya.   “Arya is like a little sister to me.  It never even occurred to me - to either of us - that our behaviour could be misconstrued.”  Though perhaps it should have occurred to him.  He thinks of the rumours Arya mentioned to him at White Harbour, he’d thought only those that didn’t know him and Arya could think such things but if Sansa had thought them ... he shuddered.  “The night she spent in my room, she fell asleep in a chair in front of the fire.  I was asleep in my bed with Rickon lying by my feet and Bran found us like that in the morning. It was for Bran, that I went away to White Harbour, I told you that.”

“It’s all right.  You don’t have to explain.  I eventually found the courage to ask Arya and she told me she thinks of you as another brother.”

He thanks the gods that the Starks and the Cleganes have been spared the tainted sibling relationships of the Targaryens and the Lannisters.  That he can say he thinks of Arya as a sister and that is enough for Sansa to understand that there is nothing for her to be jealous of, nothing for her to worry about. 

“So you don’t want to marry Lord Tyrell and be a great lady.”

 “I am a great lady.  I am a Stark of Winterfell. I have the blood of the Kings of Winter in my veins.  I will not be sold to the Tyrells in exchange for gold and wheat and ... and some beets!  I am not a cyvase piece to be moved around by others.  I am a woman grown, wedded and bedded by the man I love - even if he sometimes acts like the biggest idiot in the Seven Kingdoms!  If they mean to take you from me they will have to pry you from my cold dead hands.”

“Sansa-” she cuts off his words by slapping her hand over his mouth.

“If it’s not an apology I don’t want to hear it!”

He nods his head and she moves her hand away.  “I’m sorry little bird. I-”

“You did what you always do in your misguided efforts to protect that scarred heart of yours.  You tried to push me away.  Well I’m on to your game now my lord and husband and you won’t get away with it again. You are mine! Say it!”

“I am yours: body and soul, heart and mind, sword and fist.  All that I am, all that I have is yours.”

 “That may well be the most beautiful thing you have ever said to me,” she says running her hand down the scarred side of his face to rest on his cheek before  leaning in and claiming his lips in a gentle kiss.  “You’ll fight for me then?”

“I’ll die for you.”

“Don’t you dare!  I want you alive.  I’ll refuse to marry Lord Tyrell.  You’ll refuse to take The Black.  We’ll insist on the integrity of our marriage.  We won’t give in and if that doesn’t work then we’ll run as fast and far as we can. _Promise me_.”

“I promise.”

“Sandor,” Sansa says softly beginning to caress his cheek again.  “You do know that I’m yours?  That I love you with all my heart?  That you are the only man I have ever desired?  That I would rather kill Lord Tyrell than go willingly to his bed? That I would kill for you, and bleed for you, and die for you, just as you would for me?”

“You’re mine,” he says, reaching up and pulling her face down to his own so he can claim her lips. “All mine.  Only mine.”


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't get too excited this is more of a chaplet than a chapter. 
> 
> It was supposed to be the beginning of a longer chapter but I thought I should do an extra posting this week as I realized that on 14/04/2015 it will be exactly six months since I first posted the beginning of this fic on AO3.
> 
> Thank you to all of you who have come on this journey with me.
> 
> This chaplet is all Sansan and it a scene you have been anticipating for some time.

Sandor awakens to the feeling of his little bird’s skin pressed against his own.  He pulls her closer and nuzzles her neck, planting kisses there.  He can taste the salt on her skin with the tip of his tongue. After their talk last night he made love to her again: long and slow and tender.  He’s never done it that way with anyone else but with her it feels right.  He’d used every trick he knew to prolong her pleasure and delay his own. After all, making her come is a pleasure all of its own, and when she says his name it’s a reminder that she knows it’s him, that she wants it to be him.

She’s the novice at this but she makes him feel like a green boy most of the time, it's as though everything he thought he knew has come loose and he doesn’t know how to put it back together.  Sansa Stark was never supposed to marry him, now the Queen has given her a way out and she won’t take it.  Sansa Stark was never supposed to love him but she says she does, she acts like she does and he wants so badly to believe her.

“Mine,” he whispers, trying the word out again.

“Yes,” she sighs snuggling further into the warmth of his arms. “All yours.”

“How do you feel this morning?” He asks, it seems the sort of thing a husband should ask his wife.

“Mmmm.”  She says rolling over to face him and pulling his face down for a kiss. “Better now.”  She says opening her eyes as she trails a hand down his cheek to his neck.  Then she stops short and her eyes go wide.  Suddenly she pulls back the bed clothes to expose his torso. “I hurt you. I hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me.”  If anything he’d hurt her by the way he’d reacted to Bran’s news, the way he’d behaved with Arya.

“I did.  There are bruises on your neck and there’s blood on your chest.”  He looks down at his torso and sees the thin tracks of her nails through his chest hair and down the smooth skin on his sides.

“You may have given me a few scratches and bruises but you didn’t hurt me Sansa.  I’ve been scratched and bruised worse by Rickon when’s he’s having one of his tantrums.  I’m alright.  Now come here-” He opens his arms to her but she pulls back and he realises her face has gone white and taken on a pinched quality.  Then she is out of bed and running for the empty basin that sits besides the ewer on their washstand. He’s on his feet too, grabbing a fur off the bed to wrap round her. 

She is dry retching into the basin when he gets there.  He wraps the fur around her shoulders and strokes her hair back from her face.  _Of course she’s dry retching, when was the last time she ate?_   They’d missed both lunch and dinner yesterday.

“Sansa are you ill?”

“It’s ok.  It’s just the blood.  It’ll be all right in a minute.  I didn’t drink any tea.”

Blood?  Sansa’s never been squeamish about blood.  She’s always patching Rickon up.  The boy’s always getting injured and he refuses to let the maester put a hand on him.  When he broke his arm Sansa had had to give him milk of the poppy to put him to sleep before the maester could get close enough to reset the bone.  Even Arya prefers Sansa’s care to the Maester’s - if she can avoid him.  Back when Sandor was her sworn shield Sansa had insisted on patching his every hurt herself.  Jamie Lannister used to give him shit about it and Brienne had spoken at length about propriety with absolutely no effect.

And what has tea got to do with anything? He remembers the odd taste in his mouth when Sansa had poured some into his cup one morning when he’d asked what she was drinking.  He hadn’t even finished it.  Ginger.

Then he has a flash of memory: his mother, pregnant with his sister, having to eat in her room because the smell of meat made her ill, chewing on ginger root. _Fuck._

“Sansa, when did you last have your moon blood?”

“Before you left for White Harbour,” she says, her voice echoing oddly from inside the basin.  “You were there.”

“You realise that is more than two moons ago.” _Probably closer to three,_ he thinks. Suddenly her growing breasts, her broader hips make sense.

“O,” Sansa lifts her head out of the basin.

“When were you going to tell me?”

“I didn’t know.  I didn’t think.  You were gone and I missed you so much.  Then the letter came and you came back and we were all in danger.  And honestly it’s not something a woman looks forward to, you’re kind of happy if it skips a month or two sometimes.”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”

“Are you angry with me?” Sansa asks in a small voice, looking up at him, clutching the fur around her shoulders.

“No, I’m not angry.  I’m fucking terrified.” He pulls her to him, wraps his arms around her. “I mean fuck Sansa, I haven’t exactly been gentle with you in bed, what if I hurt the baby?” _Please stop, you’re hurting me, you’re hurting the baby._ He hears his mother’s voice, right there on the edge of his consciousness, all these years he thought he’d forgotten what she sounded like and it’s these words he remembers.

“You didn’t.” Sansa says into his chest.  “I know you didn’t.”

“How can you know that if you didn’t even know you were with child?”

“The blood ... the smell of it ... I can’t.”  She pulls away from him and leans back over the basin and starts retching again. “Don’t be angry with me please.  I’ll go to the maester today.”

“You can’t, Sansa.  No one can know.  This makes us so much more vulnerable.  What would you do if they made you choose between me and our child?”

“Sandor, you swore to protect me once and you always have.  I trust you.  Just as you’ve always protected me I know that you will always protect our child.  You won’t let anything hurt us.”

_What would I do?  What would I do if they told me they’d hurt our child? I wouldn’t want Sansa to suffer as my mother did: all those little graves..._

He leaves Sansa’s side to look for his soiled under-tunic.  When he finds it he pulls it on over the scratch marks on his chest.  He needs to hold her now.  She needs him to hold her.  As soon as she stops retching this time he picks her up and carries her back to their bed.

Once they are lying down she clings to him and buries her face in his tunic.  He holds her close, his arms looped round her back.  His instincts scream at him to hold her tighter and he fights against them to maintain a relaxed grip.

“I’d offer to clean those scratches for you but I don’t think it would be a good idea,” she finally whispers.

“Don’t worry I can do it myself.” He’s always preferred to tend his own minor wounds, he’s had plenty of practice at it.  He used to tell her that when she was fussing over some petty injury.

“Are you even a little bit happy?”

“Of course I am Sansa.  You’re having my child.”

“I’m going to give you a fine son.  He’ll have black hair and grey eyes, and we’ll raise him to be **brave and gentle and strong***  just like his father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *quote from GRRM's A Game of Thrones.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok thanks for reading, leaving kudos and commenting on this work.
> 
> Having said that I'm not sure if I can bring myself to read the comments for this chapter.
> 
> Bad stuff happens in this chapter and the next one and the reason for it is not clear yet.
> 
> Please don't hate me, don't hate Bran. Things will work out in the end. I have a sequel planned remember!

Sansa is sitting in front of her dresser, putting up her own hair and biting her lip.  No maid has come to attend her this morning and it’s making her uneasy. Her husband’s voice startles her, as he has been silent for some minutes.

“Sansa, let’s get the septon to marry us before the Seven. No one can say we aren’t married then. We’ll just sneak down to the Sept and do it.”

“We’ll need witnesses.”

“You could ask Arya and Lady Mormont. They’d do it.”

“Would they?  And risk Bran’s displeasure? Not to mention the Queen’s?”

“They may not even know what’s going on yet.  Just get them to go to the Sept with you on some pretext. I’m sorry.  I know you ought to be married in splendor.”

“I don’t care about that, as long as it’s you I’m marrying.  I just wish it wasn’t necessary.”

“I wish it wasn’t too, but now there’s a child involved we have to do everything we can to strengthen our position. If we have to marry in front of the Seven then that’s what we’ll do.  Everyone can fight about the rest of it later. We’ll have been married in front of both the old gods and the new.”

“When should we do it?”

“After luncheon.  The septon should retire to the Sept then for prayers.”

“I will ask Arya and Lady Mormont to come for a walk with me after luncheon.”

“That seems the best plan.”

“If today is to be our wedding day I would have you well attired husband.”

“We can’t dress up Sansa.”

“I know, and I shall not.  I made you some new things while you were away at White Harbour.  New undershirts, breeches and an over-tunic.  They are not fancy but I would like for you to wear something I have made.  You should put them on now so no-one notices you have changed later.” Sansa kneels down and pulls out the bottom drawer of her dresser, removing one undershirt, a pair of breeches and the over-tunic. She rises and carries them across the room to her husband. He reaches out to touch the fabric, pinching it between his fingers.

“Too fine for the likes of me.  You should have a seamstress make my clothes not wear your fingers to the bone over them.”

“It pleases me to make things for you and many ladies make clothing for their husbands.”

He takes the clothing from her.  “Then I thank you and I will wear these garments today in honour of our wedding.”

* * *

Sandor steps out of their chambers.  He is late for morning training.  Has been late or absent from it most mornings since they returned from White Harbour but he knows Arya enjoys taking the training alone, so he isn’t unduly worried.  He is half-way down the stairs when he runs into Brienne on her way up.

“Commander, Lord Stark requests your presence in his solar at once,” she says in her direct way. “I am to escort you.”

“Good morning Brienne.  You don’t need to escort me; I know where Bran’s solar is.”

“Lord Stark asked me to escort you. So I will escort you.”

“Very well.” Brienne turns and falls into step with him as he walks toward Bran’s solar.  She accompanies him in silence.  The only sound is that of their footsteps on the stone floor.  He is relieved when they finally arrive at Bran’s solar.  To his surprise Brienne doesn’t accompany him inside. Instead she stands to one side of the door and gestures for him to enter alone.

Bran sits in his usual chair behind the table, his face grave. Summer is nowhere in sight.

“I asked you to do something last night and you didn’t do it.”

“Sansa asked me to stay with her, so I did.”

Bran sighs.  “I know I shouldn’t be surprised; you have always been honest with me.  I always knew who you would choose if it came to a choice between the two of us: if it came down to obeying my order or hers.  Can’t you trust me Sandor?  Can’t you trust me to do what’s best for us all?”

Sandor takes the risk of looking into Bran’s face, and as he sometimes does he sees the boy’s youth and vulnerability there.  He thinks of himself at fourteen and tries to persuade himself that Bran’s no more a child than he was at the same age.

“I want to, and if it was just my life and happiness at stake I’d take the risk, but I’ll take no risks with hers.” _Or our child’s._

Sandor sees the hurt and sadness in the boy’s eyes before Bran’s Lord Stark face snaps into place over his features, but when Bran speaks he does not use his lord’s voice.  “Then I’m sorry for what I must do,” he says, his words no louder than a whisper. 

Bran picks up the small block of wood that rests on the table in front of him.  He hits the table with it three times.  The door to the solar re-opens and Brienne is there with ten guards from the garrison.  Brienne’s sword is out, as is that of the man standing next to her.  His name is Bryn.  Sandor has trained Bryn for the past two years.  The other nine men have their hands on the hilts of their swords.  He could name every one of them if he tried.  He knows which are married, which have children.  His own hand goes to his sword in reflex but he does not draw.  Even if he fights there will be no escape without killing them.  If he wants to find Sansa and leave the castle he will likely have to kill even more of the men he has trained to serve House Stark. 

He glances behind him at Lord Stark. Bran has no weapon.   Sandor has helped carry him enough times to know how fragile his body is.  They both know what Sandor’s only way out is, what he would have to be prepared to do to take it, and they both know he will not. 

Sandor draws his sword and lets it fall to the floor, does the same with his dirk.  Brienne comes into the room, sword still drawn and kicks his fallen weapons out of reach.  Then one of the men, Alain, comes in with the shackles and Sandor extends his arms so they can be fastened around his wrists. Then he is lead in chains from Bran’s solar to the dungeons of Winterfell.

* * *

Arya returns to her room after training in the yard to find Rickon and Shaggy curled up on her bed.  Rickon is cuddled into Shaggy and his whole body is shaking.

“Rickon, are you ill?”

“They took Father to the dungeons in chains,” he gasps out.

Arya wonders why he is so upset about this now.  There are times when he barely seems to remember their father.  She herself doesn’t know if there were chains, but she imagines there could have been.

“That was an awful time Rickon, but it was long ago.”

“No it was today.  I saw them.  He was in chains and Brienne took him to the dungeons. Shaggy and I both saw!”

“Lady Brienne wasn’t in King’s Landing when Father was arrested Rickon, you’ve had a bad dream that’s all. Do you want me to take you to Sansa?”

“Sansa!” He sits up on the bed.  “They’ll take her next, and then you; and they’ll leave me on my own with Bran again!”

“Rickon, Sansa and I aren’t going anywhere.  Jon has to go to King’s Landing because he’s a Targaryen now.  But the rest of us will stay here with you.  Maybe the Queen will even let us visit Jon so when you travel to King’s Landing we can go with you. Sandor and-”

“You’re not listening to me!  They took him to the dungeons in chains!” _Rickon said Father_.  Arya’s brain stutters into action.  When Rickon is hurt or sick and calls for his mother they all know he means Sansa.  When he demands his father they all know it is only Sandor Clegane who will be able to calm him.

“Rickon, are you telling me they took Sandor to the dungeons in chains?” Arya speaks slowly, trying to slow the speed of her words in an effort to keep herself calm.

“Yes!  That’s what I said!” Rickon snaps and she watches Shaggy nuzzle his head further into Rickon’s lap. _What’s happened in the castle while she’s been training men in the yard?  Have the Queen’s troops finally showed their hand?  Has there been some sort of coup?  But Jon would never allow ..._

“Rickon.  I’m going to find Bran.  Stay here with Shaggy Dog and lock the door behind me.  Don’t open it unless Sansa or I come to fetch you.  Do you understand?”

* * *

Sandor's cell is clean and not uncomfortable.  Instead of a narrow shelf for sleeping a wide straw pallet has been provided on the floor and there are furs and blankets.  He has also been left a chamber pot and the book on fortifications the Queen gave him as a ‘wedding present.’  The first thing he does once he has been left alone is to pick up the book and toss it through the bars out of reach.  He has no intention of playing along with this farce.  He will keep his promise to Sansa and he will fight for her.

* * *

Sansa returns to her rooms after breaking her fast to find them filled with maids emptying drawers and chests. Brienne stands in the centre of her bed chamber as though supervising the work.

“What is the meaning of this?” she asks the tall woman she’s always thought of as a friend.

“Lord Stark instructed us to remove the Commander’s things from your rooms my lady.”

“But some of those things are mine,” Sansa argues seeing a maid carrying her black and yellow dress and her bride’s cloak.

“Those things belong to the Commander’s wife, my lady, and you are no longer that according to the law of Westeros.  Lord Stark asked me to be sure I took the Clegane sigil pendant you wear about your neck too.”

“Wh-where is my husband?  Wh-where is Sandor?”

Brienne lowers her gaze so she is staring at the floor before she speaks. “The Commander has been confined to the dungeons, my lady.  He disobeyed a direct order from Lord Stark when he remained in your rooms last night.” Sansa inwardly rails against Brienne’s judgement.  How does Brienne dare judge her?  Brienne was pregnant with Ser Jamie’s child before they wed; and Brienne’s wedding itself was so secret the whole of Westeros still thinks she gave birth to a bastard. Regardless of the law of Westeros Sansa knows she is married. She was married before she was bedded, before she conceived her child.

“Is he hurt Brienne?”

“No my lady, the Commander is unharmed.”

Sansa reaches up and undoes the chain on her pendant and hands it to Brienne.

“Take care of that, I’ll need it back soon.” Sansa says and she stands there, next to Brienne, stiff- backed and silent as the maids finish their work. 

When they are finally done and gone Sansa bolts her door behind them and crosses to her dresser.  Her neck feels naked without Sandor’s sigil hanging round it.  She opens her jewel case.  Just like the morning when she found the sigil necklace she finds something unexpected, a blue velvet pouch she has never seen before. 

She opens it with shaking fingers and tips it upside down over the palm of her hand. A silver pendant on a silver chain falls into her out-stretched hand.  The pendant is in the shape of a bird and has a small red stone for an eye. It must be a gift from Sandor.  _How long ago did he leave it here?_   She has not opened her jewel case since she found the sigil necklace.  It cannot have been his mother’s and he didn’t get it from Wintertown.  He must have bought it for her in White Harbour.  _Silly man! Hiding it in her jewel case instead of just giving it to her.  He can be so odd sometimes._ But he is hers and she is his and even now when they have taken all his things away he has left her a secret symbol of their love to wear.

* * *

When Arya arrives outside Bran’s solar the guards on the door try to tell her that Bran is busy but she pushes her way past them.

The room she enters is peaceful.  Bran is sitting behind his table, looking towards the door.

“Good morning Arya, are you well?”

“I am, but Rickon is not.  I found him in my room.  He said he saw Sandor being taken to the dungeons in chains.”

“I’m sorry he had to see that.”

“You mean he wasn’t mistaken?  That Sandor is in our dungeons?”

“ _My_ dungeons.”

“What happened?  Did he -?” Her mind stutters against her skull.  _What could he have done? He wouldn’t hurt Sansa.  He wouldn’t betray House Stark._

“He disobeyed a direct order.  Such behaviour is not without consequences. Sit down Arya.  There are some things I must tell you.”

* * *

Arya listens to what her brother has to say.  She reads the sheets of parchment when he presents them for her inspection.  She finds herself thinking of her time at the House of Black and White.  If there is only **one god with a hundred different faces** * as they taught her, then why does it matter if people marry in front of R’hllor, or The Seven or the old gods?

“Will you let me visit him?”

“No Arya.  I can’t be seen to show him favour.  He disobeyed me.”

“The favour would be for me, not for him.”

“It wouldn’t be appropriate Arya.  Sansa should be the one asking to visit him.”

“Where is Sansa?  Did you throw her in the dungeons too?”

“I understand from Lady Brienne that Sansa has locked herself in her rooms.  She was somewhat distressed when I sent Brienne to remove the Commander’s things.”

“That’s what you’re going to call him now?  The Commander?  He married her on your order.  We both saw them married before the old gods.  Whatever the Queen claims they are married.  That’s why they want to send him to Castle Black – because that’s the only way Sansa will be truly free to marry again in the eyes of The North.”

“I know Arya. I was there.  Just trust me, can’t you?”

“How can I trust you when you’ve thrown our good-brother into the dungeons?  Do you mean to throw me into a dungeon too?”

“Sometimes things are not always as they appear.  Sometimes they are quite the reverse.  You may disagree with me Arya, you may even voice your disagreement but you will obey me, not as your brother, but as Lord Stark, the head of your House.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

* * *

When Arya leaves Bran’s solar, she heads straight for her sister’s chambers.  When she arrives she knocks softly.

“Sansa, it’s me, Arya.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes.” Arya hears the scrape of the bolt and the door opens just wide enough for her to slide in.  As soon as she is inside Sansa bolts the door behind her. Then she turns to lean against it, focusing her whole attention on Arya.

“How much do you know?”

“Rickon saw Brienne take Sandor to the dungeons. I went to Bran to ask what was happening.  He told me about the law and the marriage contract. He said he had to lock Sandor up for disobeying his order.”

“That’s nonsense.  Sandor swore his oaths to me.  Did you see him?”

“I asked but Bran would not allow it.”

“What do you think Bran means to do?  Do you think he will give me to Lord Tyrell?”

“He told me that things are not always as they appear.  I got the impression he had a plan but I don’t know what it is.”

“You read the marriage contract Arya. You saw the terms.  Bran accepts and Winterfell will have ample produce for the next ten years, plus gold and the Queen’s favour.  Lord Tyrell will have his sister back and Ser Barristan will have his revenge for his expulsion from Joffrey’s Kingsguard.  What does it matter to any of them that my heart belongs to Sandor?”

“It matters to me and to Rickon.  You’re our sister and Sandor is your husband, whatever that stupid law says.”

“Where is Rickon?”

“I had him lock himself in my room.  I’ll have to go back to him soon.  Can I bring him back here?  I think we should stay with you in your room.  Rickon, Shaggy and I.  I think Nymeria is out hunting just now but she’ll come find us when she gets back.”

“I think that’s a good idea and I would value the company.” Arya moves to the door and waits for Sansa to position herself in readiness to bolt the door again as soon as Arya slips out.  Sansa pauses with her hand resting on the bolt.

“Arya, I won’t marry another man. I won’t go to Highgarden. If Bran asks that of me, I won’t obey.”

“I know, and I wouldn’t expect you to. I think we need to come up with our own plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Quote from GRRM A Feast for Crows (Bk 4 of ASoIaF)


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a short one and it's all Bran playing the game. I hope you enjoy...

Bran sits in the high-backed chair in front of the fire.  He had the servants open all the windows before they carried him over here as it is too warm to sit so close to the fire, but he needs it as a prop for his grand gesture.  It is frustrating not to be able to move about on his own with anything approximating dignity.  It means everything has to be so carefully planned.  He looks down at Summer, stretched out on the rug in front of the fire.  If he was in Summer’s body he would have all the freedom of movement he wans but he would be unable to speak. And right now he needs his voice and his brain.

Finally, the knock he has been waiting for all morning sounds and he raises his eyes to the door.

Brienne steps inside “Lord Tyrell and Ser Barristan to see you my lord.”

“Thank you Brienne, you may leave us now.” She bows her head and steps out into the corridor, closing the door behind her.  Bran gestures with his head to the two empty chairs pulled up on the other side of the fireplace to indicate that Ser Barristan and Lord Tyrell should sit.

“Good morning, Ser Barristan, Lord Willas. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

Lord Tyrell clears his throat.  “Before we continue Lord Stark, there is something I feel  I should raise with you.  I believe you informed your sister and Clegane last night of the true state of their marriage.”

“I did Lord Tyrell.”

“Yet they spent the night in the same chambers.”

“I regret that Lord Tyrell.  It seems I was not clear in my instructions.  I assure you the situation will not be repeated.  The Commander will be sleeping in Winterfell’s dungeons for the next few nights.”

“I demand his execution.  He despoiled my future wife.”

“Your demand would have more weight with me if you hadn’t sat back and allowed them to live as husband and wife for weeks when you knew their marriage was invalid.  What difference can  another night possibly make?”

“Last night she was my betrothed.”

“You forget yourself Lord Tyrell.  She is not your betrothed yet.  You have agreed to the betrothal.  The Queen has agreed to the betrothal but I have not ... yet.  In fact, last night I took some time to look over the contract in some depth and the inequality of the terms is concerning to me.”

“I know it may look like I am paying too high a price for your sister but -”

“Lord Tyrell.  My sister would be a bargain at twice the price you’re offering to pay for her.  Besides, you are a man grown and I have confidence that you are more than capable of negotiating your own marriage contract.  The unequal terms I seek to discuss relate to Winterfell.”

“To Winterfell?  But you are to have half of my harvest-”

“Lord Tyrell.  We would get through this a lot faster if you would stop interrupting me.  Ser Barristan, if I may be so bold as to address my remarks to you.  Lord Tyrell offers to pay a generous bride price for my sister.  In truth Sansa is worth every penny.  Not only is she beautiful, kind and courteous, she is experienced at running a large household and she is also very clever.  Her wits have been of great value to me in my attempts to rebuild the North.  They will be of great value to Lord Willas also.  He is indeed a fortunate man.  I am to give him my sister in return for some gold and some crops and the Queen is to give him his sister as some sort of bonus. Where is my bonus Ser Barristan?”

“I’m sorry, my lord?”

“Where is my bonus?  Not only am I expected to send my beloved sister to the South.  A sister who has functioned as a trusted adviser and who was recently appointed to my ruling counsel.  I am also expected to send the Commander of my garrison, a man of fierce reputation and ever fiercer loyalty to The Wall like some criminal.  What do I get in return?”

“In return, my lord?”

“A few crops and some gold from Highgarden are not sufficient to compensate me for my losses Ser Barristan. I need someone to replace my sister on the Council of Four.  I need someone - to replace Sandor Clegane - to train my troops and command my garrison.”

“Do you have people in mind for these positions Lord Stark?”

“I would ask the Queen to send me Lord Tyrion Lannister to sit on my council.”

“Lord Tyrion is the Queen’s Hand!” Lord Willas exclaims, while Ser Barristan merely looks thoughtful.

“I know, his experience makes him ideally suited to help me rule the North.  Of course I realize the Queen will need a new hand – if I may make a suggestion my brother Prince Jon would be the ideal candidate.  Targaryen’s have often served their kin in such a way.”

“A noble suggestion, my lord,” Ser Barristan murmurs and Bran can barely hold back his smile. _I judged right, Ser Barristan has no love for the Lannisters.  He wants Tyrion gone._

“Replacing Sandor Clegane will be much more difficult.  I mean where does one find a disgraced former Kingsguard whose skill as a fighter is admired throughout Westeros?   If only Ser Jamie Lannister still lived.  He would be ideal.”

“The Queen has great power through her dragons, but she lacks the ability to raise people from the dead.  Even if she had it, I doubt she would waste it on Jamie Lannister,” Ser Barristan remarks dryly.

“That is not what I ask, Ser Barristan.  We Starks have had more than enough of people rising from the dead.  I simply want a fighter of great renown who was once in the Kingsguard. I’m sure you can think of someone. Otherwise I may just have to keep Clegane.”

“You must see that is not possible Lord Stark.  If the North is to accept your sister’s marriage to Lord Tyrell, Clegane must go to The Wall.  I will send a raven to the Queen to discuss the matter of his replacement and your request for Lord Tyrion’s services.”

“Thank you Ser Barristan.  Now, there are just a few other items. I want my sister married to Lord Tyrell before you all leave for the South.”

“Lord Stark, that is not possible.  She must go to Oldtown first to ensure-”

“Yes, yes.  I don’t dispute that Oldtown is necessary, and that the consummation will have to wait until after she has spent a year with the Silent Sisters but there is no reason the actual marriage ceremony cannot be performed here.  We have a septon after all. I would not like to send her South without the protection of a husband.  Also, I do not know if I can have faith in Lord Tyrell to honour his commitments after a year ... I am wary of long engagements.”

“I am not Robb Stark.  You may have faith in my word.” Lord Willas snaps.

“I am well aware you are not my late brother Lord Willas, there is not even the slightest resemblance between you. Now the next thing I wish to raise concerns Oldtown.  If Sansa is with child and I am to raise it I feel I ought to have some say in the circumstances.  If there is a child I would see him or her bear the last name Stark and take Sansa’s place in the succession after Rickon.”

“You would disinherit your sister and our children?” Lord Willas’s voice is deliberately flat.  _Ahh,_ Bran thinks, _he wants the claim for his children. I am disabled and Rickon is young, so he thinks it likely Sansa may yet inherit_.

“Sansa’s son with you will be the heir to Highgarden, your daughters will make Southron marriages, and your younger sons will be Southron Knights, they will know nothing of the North.  This child – if it even exists – will be raised in the North, at Winterfell, by me.  I am unlikely to have children of my own.  This is the closest I will get, I would have it count for something.”

“I will relay your wishes regarding this matter to the Queen.”

“Excellent.  I have one final condition.  Sansa must agree to the match.  I am not a man to force his sister into a marriage that is disagreeable to her.”

“So, you asked her if she’d marry Clegane then?” Lord Willas asks, as though the answer is a foregone conclusion, because what woman would choose to marry Sandor Clegane?

“Yes I did.  I told her I was of a mind to make a match between them and that he was in agreement and I asked her if she would accept it.  She said she would do as I asked.”

“To seek Lady Sansa’s agreement seems reasonable.  Lord Tyrell and I would retire to discuss these matters and send a raven to her Grace the Queen. If there is nothing else?”

“Just one more thing Ser Barristan, as the terms of this contract are unacceptable to me I see no reason that it should remain lying about.” With these words Bran tosses the document into the fire.  “I will have my maester re-write it with the new terms included.”

“If you would hold off until I have conferred with Lord Tyrell and the Queen?  There may be some further negotiation.”

“Of course Ser Barristan. I look forward to further negotiations.”


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the latest chapter. Thanks to everyone for reading.
> 
> This week's chapter is longer and we get glimpses of quite a few characters and a little more insight into Bran's thinking.
> 
> Apologies for any spelling or grammar errors - after revising the text so many times I start seeing what's supposed to be there rather than what actually is!

“How did they look when they left?” Bran asks looking up from the fire.

“Lord Tyrell looked like he was going to explode.”

“Pass me that poker.”

Brienne crosses to the other side of the hearth, picks up the poker and hands it to Bran.  He drags himself forward in his chair and pokes around in the flames making sure that every last piece of parchment has disintegrated into ash.

“You took a risk burning the contract.”

“A calculated one. I couldn’t stand to look at it anymore.”

“My lord, is this truly about negotiating better terms?  Will you not share your plans with anyone?  The men didn’t much like taking the Commander to the dungeons.”

“I know, but they did it, because that’s how Sandor trained them.  My orders override his. Not that he even attempted to countermand my orders.”

“Did you wish him to?”

“No. I wished him to obey me.”

“If you wished for that it seems you should have taken Lady Sansa into your confidence.  If the order had come from her he would have obeyed it. He’s very fond of her.”

“Do you imagine I don’t know that Brienne?  Why do you think I chose him for her husband?  I cannot tell Sansa the truth of things because I will not ask her to act a part.”

“So you would rather let her believe she runs a real risk of losing him?”

“She does run a real risk of losing him. I just wish I knew how far they’re prepared to go.”

“Who will you see next?”

“I’ll have the commander of Lord Manderly’s troops and Lady Mormont, but bring them in separately.    Lady Mormont first.  While I’m with them send one of the kitchen boys to Wintertown in search of Lord Stokeworth.  He’s likely to be found at the tavern or the brothel.”

“Lord Stokeworth hasn’t left the castle today my lord.  He is in the library playing cyvasse with Ser Davos.”

‘Then let him know I will send for him soon.  Where are my sisters and Rickon?”

“Finn informed me that Lady Arya and your brother are now with Lady Sansa in her chambers.”

“Good.  I want two spearwives in that corridor at all times.  Have them disguise their spears as brooms or mops and wear knives on their belts.  Get Osha to see to it; and tell Finn he can find something to busy himself with up there too, I want his eyes on the door.  And Brienne, before I forget, get someone to relieve you at your post.  Go to the Sept and take some food from the kitchens to the Septa.”

“Why?”

“I sent a message to her yesterday to say the Septon had been taken ill.  Osha informed me she wasn’t in her room when the maids brought her breakfast this morning, I suspect she spent the night in the Sept to keep the candles burning.”

“You want me to take her breakfast?  Couldn’t Osha or one of the maids-?”

“Osha refuses to set foot in the Sept and the Septa is a little ... difficult ... when it comes to those who worship the old gods.  You are the only member of my household currently at liberty who worships the Seven.”

“Very well my lord.”

* * *

Ser Barristan manages to keep Lord Willas silent with a series of stern looks as they make their way back toward their chambers.  Ser Barristan would have preferred to head directly for the rookery to send a raven to the Queen but he can tell Lord Tyrell needs to be calmed before he does anything stupid or - to be more accurate - anything else stupid.  As soon as they are inside Lord Tyrell’s chamber Ser Barristan closes the door and braces himself for the coming scene.

“He burned the contract. He _burned_ the contract.”

“Don’t panic.  The Queen will honour her commitment to you in regard to your sister.”

“The Queen’s promises are dependent on my marrying Lady Sansa.  The boy has no intention of letting that happen.”

“Lord Stark is simply trying to negotiate a better deal. You cannot fault him for it, as I recall you took a long time to make an offer the Queen found adequate.”

“The Queen told me my offer had to be so generous he couldn’t refuse it.  But he did.  He burned the contract right in front of us.  He can’t expect me to give into those terms.  To see my children disinherited in favour of Sansa’s bastard.”

“There may not even be a child.”

“There’ll be a child.  I’ve seen the way Clegane looks at her. He’ll have had her every chance he could get.”

“You can hardly fault him for that.  The Lady Sansa is a beauty and he thought her his wife.”

“He didn’t think she was his wife last night. In fact he knew she wasn’t.  He knew she was my betrothed.”

“Yes, and  it was a masterful counter move to call for Clegane’s execution and insult the honour of the Young Wolf to Lord Stark’s face. Need I remind you, you had two tasks here – to make yourself agreeable to Lord Stark and the Lady Sansa?  It seems you’ve failed on both counts.  If the boy was kindly disposed to you before, he’s not anymore.  As far as the Lady Sansa is concerned, I can only hope her ambition to make a grand match will enable her to rise above the insult you paid her and compel her to accept your proposal.”

“So my inability to charm them is the greatest impediment you see to this match?  Do you imagine the Queen will give up her Hand and send him North?  And that Lord Tyrion will agree to come?”

“Lord Tyrion could be of use here. There is a good argument to be made in support of Lord Stark’s proposal. ”

“You only say that because you dislike Lord Tyrion.”

“With good reason.  His father was Hand to another Targaryen, a man he eventually betrayed.  His brother stabbed that same monarch in the back while sworn to protect him.  Lord Tywin and his golden twins may both be dead but what justice is there in that when the Imp serves as Hand to another Targaryen?  Let him come and freeze his balls off in the North – he seems to have some fondness for the Starks.”

“If he’s here you’ll be here with him, or did you not understand what Lord Stark was driving at?  With Clegane at The Wall and the Kingslayer dead, you’re the only knight of the Kingsguard still living.”

“I’m an old man.  I won’t live much longer.  I won’t complain if I have to spend my last years here serving my Queen among her enemies.”

* * *

Brienne trudges through the yard in the direction of the Sept.  She carries a mug of ale, some bread, a wedge of cheese and an apple.

When she arrives at the half-ruined building the door is open.  The only light comes through the holes in the roof.  All the god candles are out.  _Where can she be?_   Brienne thinks.  _Maybe she’s fallen asleep._ Brienne takes few tentative steps forward and pauses to allow her eyes to adjust to the lack of light.  She is soon able to distinguish the outlines of some of the statues.  She takes a few hesitant steps forward and then a few more.  That’s when her foot brushes against something in the middle of the floor.  Something soft, bulky and unmoving.  She turns back towards the door and hurries out into the yard calling to one of the kitchen boys loitering there to bring her a lantern.  He vanishes into the castle and soon returns with a lantern and a flint to light it.  Once the lantern is lit she strides back into the Sept with the lantern held high and the boy on her heels.  The bulky thing she almost stumbled over is a body.  She thrusts the lantern at the boy and kneels on the floor next to the corpse.  It is wrapped in the cloak of a septon but when she turns it over it is the Septa’s unseeing eyes that stare back at her.

“Leave the lantern here boy and fetch the maester,” she says.

* * *

Ser Jorah has just tied his message to the leg of a raven when Lord Stokeworth appears on the battlements next to the rookery.

“Do you send a raven to the Queen Ser Jorah?”

“I do Lord Stokeworth.  Am I to assume you are here to send a message to her Hand?”

“That I am.  I thought Lord Tyrion ought to be informed how things go on here. “

“I thought to perform the same office for the Queen.  This is a bad business.”

“That it is.  I have a mind to take my Lannister men and march towards White Harbour tonight.  Better that than embroil them in a dispute between Houses Targaryen and Stark.”

“It will not come to that Lord Stokeworth.”

“Can you promise me that Ser Jorah?  If Ser Barristan was to give the Queen’s men one order and you were to give them another, who would they follow?”

“If they have any sense they’ll follow the orders of the prince who is not like to stand by and see them take up arms against his brother.”

“Prince Jon will stand for House Stark against the avowed wishes of the Queen?”

“The Queen has been the victim of bad counsel or she would never have meddled with the affairs of House Stark and the North in such a way.  If she had asked my advice I would have told her this was a bad idea.”

“Lord Tyrion would have told her the same. He supported the Clegane marriage.”

“My aunt tells me Lord Stark sent ravens to every Northern house yesterday.  They will all be up in arms about the insult paid to the old gods.  Old Manderly is like to protest to the High Septon because the law will make it hard to find suitable husbands for his grand-daughters.  He won’t be exaggerating if he claims this law could be the death of the new gods in the North.”

* * *

Bran is back in his usual chair behind the table in his solar. Brienne stands behind him.  The maester is standing on the other side of the table, his veiny hands clasped over his robes.

“It’s murder my lord.”

“Are you sure she didn’t trip in the dark?” Brienne asks and the maester gives her a withering look.

“The Septa fell forward Lady Brienne, but the wound that caused her death is to the back of her head. She was clearly struck from behind with a blunt object.”

“I suppose this makes it even more urgent that we find the septon.  The men cannot find a trace of him in the castle.  I will have to send them outside the gates to scour the camp.”

“It can wait till the morning Brienne. Thank you for your assistance in this matter maester.  You may return to your tower.”

“Thank you my lord.”  The maester turns and lets himself out, the door falls shut behind him.

“This is my fault.  I never thought of the Septa.” Bran says so quietly Brienne almost thinks she has misheard him.

“It’s hardly your fault that a murderer is roaming the castle my lord.”

“At least now I know how far they are willing to go.”

“My lord?”

“I told you earlier that I wished I knew how far they were willing to go; now I know.”

“You suspect that one of our visitors-?”

“Yes.  She was in the Sept at night, wearing the septon’s hooded cloak – no doubt because she was cold.  From behind it would have been easy to mistake her for the septon.”

“But why would they want to kill the septon? And where is the septon for that matter?  Did they kidnap him?  Is he lying dead somewhere?”

“The septon could make Sandor and Sansa’s marriage legal.  I foresaw that he could have been in danger so I confined him to the lowest level of the dungeons.”

“Could you not have told me that?  We’ve been searching for him all afternoon.”

“I know, and you’ll have to continue to search for him tomorrow.  No one must suspect that I have him.”

“If the poor man’s still alive.  Is it not cold down there?  How is he getting food?”

“There is one warm room down there, the old warden used to have it.  I ordered him placed there and Osha is taking him meals.” Bran’s gaze drifted across the room towards the window. “I wonder which of them did it or ordered it done.... What do they want?  The Queen wants Sandor at The Wall and Sansa married to Lord Tyrell, but which does she want more?  If she wants Sandor at The Wall, would she be willing to kill Sansa to get him there?  Lord Tyrell wants his sister freed from the Maidenvault and he needs to marry Sansa for that to happen.  Would he kill Sandor if he thought that increased his chances?  Then there’s Ser Barristan, and Lord Stokeworth, and Ser Jorah, whose side are they on? I spoke with Lord Stokeworth today.  Lady Mormont spoke with her nephew. How can you possibly outmaneuver your enemies if you don’t know who they are or what their maneuver is? You mustn’t breathe a word of this Brienne, not a word. ”

“I will keep my mouth shut and my ears open Lord Stark.”

* * *

Arya and Sansa sit at the table in front of the fire in Sansa’s bed chamber.

“He’s finally settled.” Sansa glances back at her bed where Rickon is sleeping. 

“When I think of what we were doing when we were eleven.”

“I know.  We haven’t done him any favours.  Letting him stay a child so long.”  Sansa says, pushing the food around on her plate with a fork.

“We meant it for the best. Letting him have what we didn’t.”

“So what did you find out when you went to get us dinner?” Sansa has spent the say locked in her rooms with Arya and Rickon; turning away every other visitor. 

“The Septa’s dead, someone hit her over the head as she prayed in the Sept.  Brienne found her.  The Septon’s missing.  Bran saw him last.  Apparently he said he was feeling poorly and intended to take to his bed but he’s not in his rooms.  Bran’s spent all day in meetings.  Lady Mormont had a very loud argument with Ser Jorah.  Lord Willas quarrelled with Ser Barristan. Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah have both sent ravens to the Queen.  Lord Stokeworth sent a raven to Lord Tyrion. Jon announced that he will leave for White Harbour at the end of the week with every soldier sitting outside our walls.”

“You found out all of this in the half-hour you were gone?”

“I have ears everywhere.”

“What of Sandor?”

“I know where they are keeping him; and I will take you to him, tonight.”

“Thank you Arya.  Do you have an escape route planned?”

“I always have an escape route planned.  Tonight I have ten of them.”

“Do you mean to come with us?”

“I can’t.  You know Rickon would fall to pieces if I left him too. I will get you outside Winterfell’s walls. Sandor will have to take it from there.”

* * *

Sandor’s stomach has just started to grumble when Osha appears with a tray of food and a wineskin. 

“Lord Stark asked me to bring you some dinner, Commander.  It is what they ate in the Great Hall tonight.” He looks at the tray of food warily.  “I assure you Commander, the food is perfectly safe.” 

Osha passes him the wineskin and then the food through the bars.  He takes it and goes to sit on the edge of his pallet.  Everything smells good and he is hungry so he begins to eat.  The wine is his favourite Dornish Red so he drinks that too.  Osha sits outside the cell watching him eat.

“He said I am to bring you anything else you need.”

“I need the key to this cell.  Can you bring me that?”

“No,” she says, her eyes on him as he takes a long pull from the wineskin.

“What about my wife?  Can you bring her to see me?”

Osha lowers her eyes and looks down at the floor to his left. “According to the law of Westeros you have no wife.”

He almost asks her how that sits with her, a follower of the old gods to see their earthly power curtailed by a Targaryen Queen.

“Can you tell me how she is then?  How is the Lady Sansa?”

“She has locked herself in her chambers; she has allowed no one to visit her except Rickon and the Lady Arya.”

“And how is Lady Arya?”

“She is very angry.  She asked to see you but it was not permitted.”

“And Rickon?”

“I imagine he is telling everyone that when he marries Queen Daenerys he will make her take Sansa from Lord Tyrell and give her back to you.”

Sandor laughs, but his laughter sounds odd to his own ears and when he looks up at Osha she seems a little blurry round the edges.

“You should lie down now Commander, you will be asleep soon.”

He tries to rise but he can’t manage it. “You lied.  You said the food was safe.”

“The food was safe but the wine was not.  It is just a sleeping draft from our own maester.  It will do you no harm.  He says you will wake in the morning feeling rested and refreshed.”

The only response he can manage is a growling noise and his eyes feel so heavy he can scarce keep them open so he gives into his fate and lies back on the pallet.

* * *

When she is sure he is asleep Osha ventures into his cell.  She picks up the wineskin and the empty bowl and tosses a few furs over him before she exits the cell, extinguishes the torches and settles down in the empty cell next door to wait.

* * *

Sansa holds the candle while Arya turns the key in the lock.  When the door swings open Sansa thrusts the candle into her sister’s free hand and rushes into the cell.

Sansa crosses the floor to the pallet where her husband lays sleeping.  She kneels down beside him on the pallet and shakes him gently. 

“Sandor wake up,” she whispers, but he does not stir. She caresses his unscarred cheek and places a gentle kiss on his lips but he does not stir.  “Sandor, love please wake up. Wake up.”  Something is wrong.  She lowers her head to his chest.  She feels the rise and fall of his breathing, the thudding of his heart. She struggles to maintain her voice at whisper level. “Arya.  He won’t wake.  I can’t wake him.”  Sansa starts shaking him, his head is rolling from side to side yet his eyes remain closed.  “Arya!” Sansa is crying now and she watches as her tears fall onto his face and do nothing to rouse him.  She can feel Arya behind her now and Arya's hand reaches out to grip hers where it rests on her husband’s shoulder.

“Good evening Lady Sansa, Lady Arya.”  Sansa turns and looks up to see Osha standing in the open doorway of the cell holding a flaming torch.  “Do not be distressed.  It is a sleeping potion, made by our maester.  He assures me Commander Clegane will wake in the morning with no ill effects.”

“You poisoned him!  You poisoned my husband!” Sansa is on her feet and moving in Osha’s direction. Arya puts a hand on her arm to stop her.

“Lord Stark thought you would try something like this tonight.  He asked me to do this to protect all of you.  What do you think would happen if the three of you were caught trying to escape tonight? Could you truly kill Stark men? Even if you did get through the castle walls do you think the Queen’s men camped outside would hesitate to kill strangers in their camp? You are all safer here under the protection of your brother.”

“What about Sandor?  Is he safe here?  Drugged out of his mind and with no one on guard?” Sansa demands.

“Lady Mormont and Brienne are on guard.  They were instructed to let the two of you slip past them if you came tonight.  Lord Stark knew you’d need to see the Commander yourselves even though he can’t be seen to allow it. Now go back to bed.  I will sleep in the cell next door.  All the Queen’s men are locked outside Winterfell’s gates and Summer sleeps in the corridor outside Ser Barristan and Lord Tyrell’s rooms.”

“Wh- what – what does Bran need from us?” Arya asks hesitantly.

“He needs you to keep acting as you have been.  Lady Sansa stay locked in your room, you are safer thus.  Lady Arya, you should go to Lord Stark again tomorrow and demand to see the Commander.  When he tells you ‘no’ he says you have his permission to shout and curse at him just as you did today.”


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait for this chapter. I was away and then I was sick. And then I just couldn't get it to work the way I wanted to. 
> 
> I am so glad I finished it before I heard what happened in Episode 6 - I am so devastated I kept hoping they weren't going to go there. That being said I don't think I am ready to talk about it AT ALL. This is now very much an ASOIAF fan fic as if you only watch GOT none of the set up will make any sense as they have diverged so far from the books (as they stand at this point).
> 
> Thank you for your patience with me and I hope you enjoy the up-date.

Sansa lays flat on her back in bed and stares up at the ceiling. Rickon is fast asleep next to her and heat radiates off his small form. Nymeria is sleeping across the foot of the bed, her head on Sansa’s ankles. Shaggy’s heavy breathing is audible from where he is stretched out under the bed, every now and then he lets out a sigh as he tries to make himself comfortable.  Sansa suspects these loud sighs are his way of protesting against their unfair treatment of him, as when she and Arya returned from the dungeons they had to evict him from the bed so they had enough room to lie down.

“Do you think he’ll be alright?” Sansa asks aloud, sure Arya will know she isn’t talking about Shaggy.

She hears Arya stir on the other side of Rickon.  Rickon has settled like a stone in the very middle of the big bed, so Sansa is on one side of him, Arya on the other.

“Yes.  He’ll be fine.  Bran wouldn’t hurt him, neither would Osha.  Bran just knows us too well.  It was his way of showing us he’ll anticipate our every move.”

“That green-seeing thing makes it difficult to get round him.”

“I’m never sure though.  How much is the green-seeing?  And how much is just Bran?”

“He has always been kind of perceptive.”

Arya makes a sound that signifies agreement. “He makes a very good Lord Stark. I think even Lord Umber is a little in awe of him.”

“Yes well, most men are bound to be in awe of a boy who can inhabit the body of a fully grown direwolf.  You should have seen the Greatjon’s face the first time Bran warged in front of him.”

“I would have liked to have seen that.”

“His face went quite grey. Lady Mormont and Lord Reed barely batted an eye.  Lord Manderly was the worst.  I thought he was going to have a heart attack.”

“Do you think we can trust Bran, Sansa?”

“I want to, but he has my husband in his dungeons.  And the offer Lord Tyrell makes for my hand would feed the North for ten years.  The North suffered badly in the war: so many dead, our best land lying fallow, our roads and holdfasts in disrepair – if we didn’t need to spend so much of our gold on food there is a lot we could do with it.  In ten years the North could be even stronger than before.  Bran has a duty to the people of the North.  He has to consider so much more than my happiness.”

“You will marry Lord Willas then?  If Bran tells you to?”

“No. It is selfish of me but I will not.  Bran is not required to consider my happiness but I must.  I could not be happy in Highgarden with Lord Willas.  I do not think he has any great regard for me; and I certainly have none for him.  I have always guarded my honour and there can be no honour in marrying one man while your heart belongs to another.  I have seen that poison at work and it brings only misery.  A woman who is lucky enough to love and marry the man who loves her should not cast such a blessing aside. Not even for the good of the North.”

“It’s not selfish to consider your own happiness Sansa; not when you have had so little of it.”

* * *

 _He feels her soft hands caressing his face.  When she kisses him he wants to kiss her back but his lips won’t move.  His body is heavy, as though it is made of stone.  Even the tears that wet her cheeks have no power to move him.  He tries to reach out to her with all his strength and his stone hand shatters and crumbles into dust._  

He sits up suddenly, not realising where he is at first.  His bed is made of straw, not feathers and it rests on the ground.  He still has both his hands.  He checks that first.  Everything still moves.  He checks that second.  Then he looks for her.  She is not there.  He sees the bars and then he sees the boy on the other side of them.  Bran is sitting on the floor, his back resting against the opposite wall, his useless legs sticking out in front of him like sticks.  Summer is with him, snuggled into his side.  His chin resting on the bone of Bran’s knee.

 “Good morning.”

“Is it?” Sandor growls in return, his voice still roughened from sleep.   No light penetrates the dungeons, he has no way of knowing if it’s morning or not.  The only light comes from the flaming torches in brackets at intervals along the walls of the corridor. He sits there on the edge of his pallet and looks at Bran.  “You had Osha drug me.”

“I did.  For your own good.  My sisters came for you last night.  They were planning to break you out.  The results of that could have been unfortunate for us all.  I acted to prevent it.”

“Sansa was here.”

“They both were.  They are both fond of you, in very different ways.  Up until very recently their feelings for you have kept them apart, but from now on I think they will bring them together.”  

“So you locked me up because you thought it would help your sisters get along?”

“I told you why I had you arrested.  And a nice warm cell is a more comfortable punishment than the one Lord Tyrell would have given you for the same offence. He wanted you executed for defiling his betrothed.”

“Sansa is not his betrothed!”

“That’s what I told him. After all, I am yet to give my consent.”

“Then give it to me.  You know my feelings for your sister. I have been a good husband to her.  I do not have ten years of harvests to share with you but I have the gold Lord Tyrion gave me for Clegane Keep – you can have it all and everything else I have if you want it: armour, swords, even my horse.”

“Your armour is of no use to me, there is no other man here your size.  Your swords are useless without you to wield them and that horse of yours kicks anyone who is fool enough to approach it.  As for the gold, Lord Tyrion meant it for you to establish yourself in the north, I can’t let you use it as bride price.”

“It is my gold now, and I would give it to you gladly. I know Sansa’s value, that she is worth more than all I have to offer ... but I will care for her as no other man will.”

“Sandor, it has seemed to me – since we returned from White Harbour – that Sansa feels more for you than you thought possible in the past. I think if she had the choice, she would choose you over Lord Tyrell. Am I right?”

“She told me I was hers and she was mine; that she held our marriage valid and that she didn’t want to marry Lord Tyrell.”

“Did you believe her?”

“Yes.”

* * *

The sound of rustling wakes Sansa from the sweetest dream of gentle hands exploring her most intimate places while twisted lips leave soft kisses on the delicate skin of her neck. She sighs when she realises the warmth in the bed beside her is all direwolf and she frowns as the events of the previous day come back to her.

When she sits up in bed, her room is a mess of open chests and discarded clothing.

“You’re awake!”  Her sister’s voice exclaims and she spots Arya sitting in the middle of the floor wearing one of her old dresses. “I need your help.  I can’t find a thing to fit me and I know I’ll make a ham of it if I try to alter it myself.  How long will it take to make this one over for me?”

“Arya.  Why are you trying on my dresses?”

“I told you. I was hoping to find something in your old things that would fit.” Arya stands up and the dress - which is a pretty shade of grey that complements Arya’s darker skin tone and makes her grey eyes sparkle - leaves a silken puddle on the floor around her feet. “Honestly sometimes I wonder how we can be sisters.  All your dresses are much too long; and I have almost nothing up here.” Arya tugs at the neckline of the dress to show how loose it hangs over her small breasts.  Her efforts serve only to put a generous portion of her small clothes on display.  “And how is it even possible for your waist to be so tiny?  I had to hold my breath to get in here.  If I have to sneeze I swear the seams will burst and I haven’t even laced it properly.”

“Arya, you hate dresses.”

“I don’t hate them.  I just find them impractical for daily wear.  I mean I’d look ridiculous if I tried to wear a sword with this.”

“So, why do you need a dress today?”

“Because, Lord Tyrell strikes me as the kind of man who would insist on his wife being properly attired at all times.  Do you think you could put a pocket in this so I could carry a dagger?”

“It’s best to strap your dagger to your ankle, just make sure you can reach the hilt easily once it’s inside your boot.” Sansa answers getting out of bed and slipping into her robe.  “Where’s Rickon?”

“I sent him to take Shaggy for a walk, so you could sleep a bit longer – you were tossing and turning half the night.”

“So are you going to explain this dress business to me properly – because I could have sworn you said something about Lord Tyrell’s wife?”

“You said the North needs what he’s offering.  I am a Stark and as much the Queen’s niece as you are.  I’m not in love with anybody.  I’m of age.  I wasn’t here in the beginning when you and Bran rebuilt Winterfell but I could help with this.”

“That’s very generous of you Arya; but I don’t think it will work.”

“At least let me suggest it to Bran.”

“Bran is like to tell you no.  He’ll be no keener to see you sacrifice yourself than I am.  Arya – I would hate to see you married to someone you had no feelings for; and I cannot believe you would grow to love Lord Tyrell.  He has not acted well in this business and I greatly fear he may not be a good person. And Highgarden is so far away.”

“You just don’t want to give up any of your dresses.”

“If you want a dress I – well I made you one while you were away at White Harbour.”

“You did?”

“Yes.  I didn’t give it to you because I wasn’t sure if you would like it.” Sansa dug around in one of the chests and pulled out a wrapped parcel.  “It’s a special kind of dress you see.”  She handed the parcel to her sister.

“I can’t believe you made me a dress. When was the last time you saw me wear one?”

“You were nine and we were in King’s Landing with Father. Open it.” Arya unwrapped the parcel carefully and unfolded the blue garment inside.

“It’s a pretty colour.” Arya said as she spread it out in front of her “But isn’t it kind of indecent?  It has no sleeves and no sides.”

“Well I told you it was a different kind of dress – it’s more like a long waistcoat.  You can wear it over a nice tunic and breeches.  It won’t get in the way of your sword or your dagger because the sides are open once they pass the bust.  I thought you could wear it on special occasions like weddings or feasts – if you liked it that is.  If you don’t like it you don’t have to wear it at all.”

“Can I try it on?”

“Of course.  It’s yours.  If it doesn’t fit right I can make some adjustments.”

“Will you help me out of this thing first.  I can’t imagine how I got it on in the first place.” 

Sansa did as she was asked and helped Arya out of one garment and into the other.  Sansa was not surprised to find Arya was still wearing her breeches under her dress.

“You know I think this will suit me much better. You could make me another if you like.”

“Of course I’ll make you another.  But you should put your tunic back on before you catch cold.”

Arya slipped out of her new garment easily and began searching through the discarded dresses on the floor for her tunic. Sansa bent to pick up a discarded dress but quickly changed her mind as the movement made her feel both dizzy and queasy. She went to sit on the bed instead.

“Are you alright? You look pale.”

“I just felt a little dizzy for a moment.  I’m sure it will pass.” Sansa closed her eyes for a moment.  Not opening them again until she heard a knock on the door.

“Lady Sansa? Lady Arya?” Arya was wearing her tunic now; and her dagger and sword were belted to her waist, she raised her brows at Sansa in inquiry.

“All right.  Let her in.” In truth Sansa is secretly glad it’s Osha, perhaps she thought to bring some ginger tea and some lemon cakes.  For some reason lemon also seems to soothe Sansa’s stomach a little.

Arya opens the door and Osha comes into the room carrying a tray.

“I’m surprised Rickon isn’t with you.”

“I made him preside over breakfast in the Great Hall.  There should be one Stark in attendance. Lady Arya you need to go and see to those young men milling about in the yard with their swords.  It’s not as if the Commander will be training them today.”

“I told Finn to lead the drills this morning.”

“Finn has business for Lord Stark.”

“Why didn’t he just tell me that?  I arranged things so I could stay with Sansa.”

“I’ll stay with Lady Sansa for now.  You go down and get them started at least.”

“Do you mind Sansa? How did they ever manage when Sandor and I were at White Harbour?”  Arya hurried from the room and Sansa crossed the room to bolt the door behind her.

“It seemed to me that the men managed well enough while they were away in White Harbour,” she commented to Osha.

“They’re unsettled this morning.  It’s best they have a Stark to see to them. Remind them who they serve. There are also a few extra men in the yard they’d be less visible if they were busy.”

“Extra men?”

“The less you know of it the better. Now sit down in front of the fire and drink your ginger tea before you break your fast.”

“Thank you Osha.”  Sansa sat down in the chair in front of the fire and took the mug Osha handed her.

“Lady Sansa, do you know why you’re feeling off-colour in the mornings?”

“Yes.”

“Does the Commander know?”

“Yes.”

“Have you told anyone else?”

“No.  I know you guessed Osha.  Who else did?”

“The maester for sure; and perhaps Lady Mormont.”

“Will they say anything?”

“I don’t think so.  They haven’t spoken of it to me, or to you, I’m guessing.”

“Why didn’t you tell me Osha?”

“Because it was still early days, and the Commander was away.  You wouldn’t have had the whole castle know before he did?  Then when they came back it seemed best to wait until all these soldiers were gone and things were settled again.” Osha picked up a cup from the tray and handed it to Sansa.  She looked at it in confusion – it contained nothing except a few foul smelling leaves in the bottom.

“What is this?”

“Moon tea.”

Sansa let the cup fall from her hand and it broke on the stone floor scattering the foul smelling leaves among the rushes.

“No.  I won’t.”

“And I’d never ask you to.  I brought it so you’d know the smell.  It’s distinctive.  If anyone tried to slip it into your food or your drink you can’t miss it.”

“You think someone will try to kill my baby?”

“I’d like to think Lord Tyrell would be too smart to mess with your future fertility, but I don’t think it would pay either of us to put too much faith in his mental capacity. One of the wilding girls heard him raging about a baby.  So I thought it would pay for you to be on your guard.”

“Thank you Osha. Were you there when my husband woke this morning?  How is he?”

“We can’t call him your husband milady, but The Commander was still asleep when I left him this morning.  Lord Stark was with him.  He wanted to speak with him when he woke.”


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay between up-dates. I have been a little blocked after what happened to Sansa on the show. Clearly I need to be living in a show free vacuum. So I have resolved not to watch another episode until this story is done.
> 
> You may have noticed I have edited the tags to this fic so it is now exclusively an ASOIAF fan fiction rather than an ASOIAF/GOT fan fiction.
> 
> This is a shorter chapter - it was part of something longer but the second part needs more work and it's not going to get it for a few days SO I thought I would post what I have to reward you all for waiting so patiently.
> 
> My apologies for any spelling or grammar errors.
> 
> Believe it or not these two scenes do move the plot along...

“What have you to report Brienne?”

Brienne stands in front of the table in Bran’s solar, her helmet under her arm. “Our search of the camp was unsuccessful.”

“You were not able to locate the Septon then?” Bran asks her, and Brienne gives him a look best described as withering, because she knows where the Septon is, just as surely as he does.

“No my lord.”

“Did you find anything else of interest?”

“Nothing to indicate anyone else might have done the deed.  Though the gossip in the Queen’s camp suggests that it was one of the wildlings, angry about the insult paid to the old gods by the Queen and the High Septon.”

“That would be easier to believe if the wildlings didn’t refuse to set foot in the Sept for fear the old gods will strike them down.  They did not grow up as we did swearing to the old gods and the new.”

“It is always easier to blame outsiders my lord.”

“Yet I cannot believe Lord Tyrell or Ser Barristan would have snuck into the Sept in the dead of night and hit an old woman over the head.”

“I cannot believe it either my lord.  Though I confess my doubts stem more from the fact both would consider such a deed beneath them than due to any belief in their goodness.  Though I was raised to think Ser Barristan a model of chivalry I fear he has not lived up to his reputation.”

“I too am severely disappointed in Ser Barristan, but like you I cannot bear to think this of him.  Ser Davos is an honest man; and he has no reason to target the faith.  He is so much a believer himself that he sustained his belief in the face of Lord Stannis’s devotion to the red god. I know little of Lord Stokeworth.  His reputation is by no means spotless and many men would hesitate to call him honourable but I don’t see him killing with no reason.  He’s a pragmatist and he serves Lord Tyrion who seems to have been completely unaware of the Queen’s plan to undo Sansa’s marriage.  Lady Mormont assures me her nephew was also in ignorance of it.”

“That leaves Lord Tyrell.”

“I cannot forget his grandmother’s murder of Joffrey and her attempt to implicate Sansa in the act.  No one can be in ignorance of his sister’s wiles - she was married to three false Kings – or his father’s ambition.  And I will not forget the insult he paid Sansa in the godswood.  If killing a septa is beneath him is there a man he could have ordered to do it?  Does he have any of his own men with him? How many of them?  Can they account for their where-a-bouts on the night of the Septa’s death.”

“I will look in to it my lord.”

“Delegate as much as you can Brienne, you know I have much need of you just now.”

“I could not help but notice in my search of the camps that Lord Manderly’s camp seemed strangely short of men.  Apart from the sentries that is.  Most of the tents were empty.”

“Do you imagine they have been troubled by deserters Brienne?”

“No my lord.  I imagine you invited them to step inside our walls in case of a siege.”

“Well it would have been inappropriate to leave our allies out there with those who may prove to be our enemies.”

“You think it will come to that then?”

“I don’t know what it will come to, but someone in this castle is willing to resort to murder. So how many people have approached you to make claims on my time today?”

“Lady Arya has requested an audience with you.”

“Since when has Arya needed to make a formal request to see me?”

“I asked her the same question and she said since you started tossing people into the dungeons for disobeying you, like a proper lord.”

“She may come and take the midday meal with me in my solar.  Where is she now?”

“In the yard with the men.”

“What about Rickon?”

“He took Shaggy for a walk in the godswood this morning.  Then Osha made him preside over the first meal of the day in the Great Hall. One of the spearwives has eyes on him at all times.”

“And Sansa?”

“She has not left her room.  Osha kept her company after Lady Arya left.  Prince Jon is with her now. Lord Tyrell has asked if he might speak with her today. I believe he wishes to pay his addresses.”

“If Arya is not back by the time Jon leaves send someone we trust to sit with Sansa.  Sansa may choose whether she will see Lord Tyrell but I want Arya and at least two others with her if she does and I will not have him in her chambers.  It must be in the yard or the godswood – somewhere outdoors but within the castle.”

“As you wish my lord.  I stopped by the maester’s chambers on my way back from the camp.  He wished me to deliver you the revised marriage contract.  He said to tell you he was up half the night writing it.” Brienne removes a large scroll from her helmet. “He has also received a number of ravens this morning.  He was somewhat overwhelmed so I asked Osha to send him a kitchen boy to help with their feeding and to clean up the droppings.  He sent the most urgent messages for your consideration.  There is this from Lord Tyrion” Brienne places Lord Tyrion’s message into Bran’s hand following it with two other small rolls of paper. “The message from Lord Manderly is merely a copy of the one he’s sent to the Queen and the High Septon but the maester said you would want to read it.  The third message is from Lord Reed.  The master insists you burn it as soon as you have read it.

“The message from Lord Tyrion is still sealed.”

“It arrived when I was with the maester.  He thought you would want it straight away.”

“It is too soon for Lord Stokeworth’s raven to have reached King’s Landing, let alone for Lord Tyrion to have sent an answer.”

“Then this must be about something else, or perhaps he discovered the Queen’s plan on his own and writes to advise you.”

Bran tears the message open.  He reads it through once, then - unable to believe what his eyes are telling him - he reads it again.

“My lord, what does it say?”

“Lord Tyrion bids us wish him happy.  It seems he is recently married.”

“Married?  It must have been a short courtship.  He mentioned no plans of that kind when I was in King’s Landing.”

“There was either a short courtship; an exceptionally long one; or no courtship at all.  You’d best read it yourself.  I scarce trust my eyes.”

The other messages lay on Bran’s table forgotten as he hands Lord Tyrion’s note to Brienne.  He watches her as she reads it and then as she reads it again.

“This is not possible.” She looked at him, her face white with shock.  “Has all this with Lady Sansa and the Commander been nothing but a diversion then? And you are expected to break the news to Lord Tyrell?”

“I can hardly keep it from him can I?  Yet I dread telling him.  The man has the arrogance of a peacock and the wits of a pigeon.  He is likely to think I have been in on the whole thing. After all I did burn the Queen’s words, her promise to him. I must see them.  All of them: Ser Jorah, Ser Barristan, and my brother too.”

* * *

“Osha seemed reluctant to leave you with me,” Jon sits down stiffly on the chair opposite Sansa.

“She’s protective.”

“Of all of you.  I see that. She is not the only one concerned about you though.  What has happened must have come as a severe shock to you.”

“It did.  Did you know of it Jon?”

“I had no idea.  Ser Jorah - who has been with me at The Wall for some time – claims to have been in ignorance also. It seems even Lord Tyrion had no idea this was coming, if Lord Stokeworth is to be believed.”

“Are you insulted to have Sandor as your good brother?  Because his brother killed your brother and sister?”

“You mean my half-sister and my half-brother?”

“Jon!”

“I thought that would get a rise out of you.  Don’t worry I’m not reproaching you.  You haven’t called me your half-brother for years.  Even when you were angry with me for refusing to follow the terms of Robb’s will you never called me anything but brother. 

 The murder of infants is a terrible thing, but I never knew them and if we had grown up together I doubt they would have liked me.  I imagine Priness Elia of Dorne would have had a greater distain for me than a Tully of Riverrun ever did. I never knew Gregor Clegane either - and I am thankful for that blessing - but I have come to know Sandor and I am not ashamed of being related to him.

Sansa, they may call me the Crown Prince now but I do not know how much influence I have with the Queen.  My father abducted my mother and caused a war that lead to the downfall of her family.  She was left an orphan and raised in exile.  She names me her heir out of necessity.  Ser Jorah tells me she is barren and I am all that is left of her blood.

Ser Jorah tells me he does not think the Queen would force you into marriage if the groom was repugnant to you.  Ser Barristan told Ser Jorah that Bran is negotiating a new marriage contract for you, one in which you must consent for the marriage to go ahead. If you cannot like Lord Willas you must say so. 

I have tried to convince the Queen of the futility of sending Sandor to take my place on The Wall.  After all she has no right to choose who leads in my place but she is determined to make modifications to the order, to bring it more closely under the control of the Crown.  I intend to do what I can to convince her that while some modernisation is necessary to accommodate the Wildlings The Watch must remain independent of the Crown.

Sansa, if you would prefer not to return to Sandor, you could travel south with me and I would try to find you a husband more to your liking. I know you would not like to stay in King’s Landing but you might like to see Dragonstone which is just across Blackwater Bay.”

 Sansa shuddered, “Thank you Jon, but Winterfell is my home.  What I wish is to stay here with Sandor as my husband.”


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you who have waited so patiently for this up-date.
> 
> My apologies for any errors.
> 
> I'm afraid this chapter is rather heavy on plot - Sansa will make an appearance in the next chapter.

When the knock came Bran was almost ready for it. He had just finished watching Lord Reed’s message crumble into ash.

Brienne arrived first and took her place behind him.  The others arrived in ones and twos. 

Brienne had taken him literally when he’d said ‘all of them’ for Lord Stokeworth, Ser Davos and Lady Mormont arrived as well. It was just as well, Bran reflected.  Lord Stokeworth should have this news as Lord Tyrion’s man.

“I apologise for summoning you all with so little notice but I received a raven this morning from Lord Tyrion.  It contained some very surprising news that I thought I should share with you all; though it concerns some of you more directly than others. Lord Tyrion wrote to me to announce his marriage.” Bran studied the faces in front of him, everyone looked suitably surprised.

“So who is to be the new lady of Casterly Rock?” Lord Stokeworth asked.  “Or did Lord Tyrion not say?”

Bran didn’t know how to say it.  He wondered how Robb had felt when he learnt Sansa had been married to Lord Tyrion all those years ago.  Now he had to break that same news to another brother.

“Lord Tyrion has married Lady Margaery Tyrell.”

“That’s not possible!” Lord Willas jumped to his feet, knocking over his chair in the process.  “I just came from King’s Landing! Nothing of this was mentioned to me!  My consent was not sought.”

“You find that strange do you?  When my consent was never sought to the contract you and the Queen drew up concerning my own sister.” Bran regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.  He should not have rubbed salt in the wound but he was angry.  He had had enough of all of this.

“As if you were not up to your neck in this with the Queen all along? You never intended me to marry your sister.”

“Of course I never intended it!  I never even knew about it! I thought her married already! Until I was made aware of the new law and presented with the marriage contract.”

“The law stands.  The contract stands.  Even if I cannot have my sister; I will have yours.  I will not indulge you any longer in your sham negotiations. I want my bride.”

“The contract you speak of is ash.”

“Everyone here has seen it.”

“With respect my lord, I must say that I have not.” Ser Davos spoke up.

“Didn’t have the pleasure myself,” Lord Stokeworth agreed.

“Though my aunt did make mention of the contents to me I cannot claim to have seen the original,” Ser Jorah remarked.

“Well, most of the people here have seen it.” Lord Tyrell amended.  “Ser Barristan carried it on his person for weeks.”

“I did Lord Tyrell; but perhaps now is not the time or the place to have this discussion.”

“I agree with Ser Barristan,” Jon spoke up.  “We have all had something of a surprise, you most of all.  Perhaps it would be best for us to take some time for the news to sink in.”

“No.  I will have my answer now.  Will Lord Stark follow the Queen’s wishes in regard to Lady Sansa’s marriage or will he turn rebel and traitor like his father and brother before him?”

“You dare to come to Winterfell and call Lord Stark a traitor?  When his father did nothing but speak the truth of Joffrey’s birth; and the Young Wolf did nothing but fight those who murdered his father – the same people Queen Danerys has since branded bastards and usurpers. It is not treason to rebel against those who have no right to the throne.” Lady Mormont’s voice was calm but her eyes blazed with righteous anger.

“Was it not treason for the Young Wolf to call himself King?  What claim had he to the throne?”

“The Starks were Kings of the North for thousands of years.  He sought only to claim the throne of his ancestors.  He would have freed Westeros of the Lannister yoke and returned to Winterfell to leave you Southerners to settle your own affairs.  He would have succeeded too if he’d not been murdered.”

“You use the world ‘murder’ very freely Lady Mormont when it comes to the Starks.  Do you Northerners never kill you enemies?”

“We kill them in battle, we do not turn weddings into massacres or poison boys at their wedding feasts.”

“Aunt please-”

“Be quiet Jorah.  Where were you during all this?  Safe, on the other side of the narrow sea, no doubt crowing over Ned Stark’s ill fortune. Now you stand there in your white cloak while my Dacey lies in the ground - if those butchers even had the decency to bury her which I doubt.”

“Enough!  All of you!” It was Jon’s turn to lose his temper.  “It does us no good to fight about the past.  We all lost people – some for a time, some forever: family, friends, comrades.  Westeros is now at peace, although from what I have seen here since I arrived you would hardly know it.  Is this what I am to expect when I take my place in Kings Landing?  Secret laws? Secret contracts?  Lies and deceptions? Men seeking to curtail the power of the gods? Were you serious about wanting this situation resolved Lord Tyrell?”

“I was Prince Jon. May I rely on you to enforce the Queen’s wishes?”

“We are at a great distance from King’s Landing.  I know Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah have both sent messages to the Queen but it may be days before they receive replies.  If the decision is to be made today, in my view there is only one person who has the right to make it.  I propose that we ask my sister, Lady Sansa, to determine her own fate. What say you Lord Tyrell? Will you agree to that?”

“I will.”

“And you Lord Stark?” Jon turns to look at Bran.  _So much for leaving me to handle this Jon_.  Admittedly the plan was his -  Ser Jorah had told his aunt that the Queen would not force a girl to wed against her wishes – that’s why Bran had wanted a clause written into the new contract to say Sansa had to agree to the marriage. The worst of it was he wasn’t totally sure that Sansa wouldn’t agree to the marriage.  His sister was accustomed to sacrifice.  She was used to doing what others expected of her; being who others expected her to be. He didn’t want to abandon her in this moment. “Lord Stark?  Bran?  Do you agree? Will you let our sister make this decision for herself.” Bran raised his eyes, everyone in the room was looking at him.

“I agree.  The decision will be Sansa’s. Brienne,” he turned his head to where Brienne stood behind his left shoulder, “send two of our men to fetch her.”

“Stark men? Trained by the Hound?  I think not.” _Would Lord Tyrell never shut his mouth?_

“I’ll go.” Ser Jorah spoke.

“A Northman?  Is that any better?”

“My nephew is no Northman. He serves the Dragon.”  It seemed to Bran that Lady Mormont’s anger at her nephew had led her into a comment that walked the knife edge of treason.

“Thank you Ser Jorah.  One of Lord Stark’s men will direct you. Tell my sister she is needed in Lord Stark’s solar.”

“As you wish my prince.” Ser Jorah bowed and left the room.

“Perhaps, during Ser Jorah’s absence we might take the time to grab a breath of air and regain our tempers.”

Lady Mormont stormed from the room. Lord Tyrell righted his chair and sat down in it with rather a smug smile until Ser Barristan gestured for him to step outside. Lord Stokeworth headed towards the kitchens, no doubt in search of ale or something stronger.

Only Ser Davos lingered to approach them. “Perhaps I should take my leave of you now?”

“By no means Ser Davos.  We are need of cool heads here.” Bran told him.  “It seems even my brother and I are struggling to keep ours today.”

“Lord Tyrell is vexing, but he has cause to be upset - today at least - and unless I am very much mistaken he is about to have yet more cause. He was very wrong to push you to settle this now.”

“I suspect Ser Barristan is telling him so.”

* * *

“Did you know about this?” Lord Tyrell turns on him and Ser Barristan represses a sigh.

“Of course I didn’t.  Everyone in that room was as surprised as you.”

“Everyone except Lord Stark and the wench who guards him.”

“Lord Stark had obviously read the message before he summoned us to share its contents. Your disappointment is natural.  I confess to being disappointed as well.  I had hoped to do the Queen’s will here, but it seems there is part of her will that she has kept me in ignorance of.  You would be within your rights to withdraw your offer for Sansa Stark.  I know you never wanted to marry her in the first place.  The marriage was the price of freeing your sister.  Now your sister is Lord Tyrion’s concern.”

“The Lannisters and the Starks were supposed to be finished - both of them!  After the war their houses were in ruins.  House Tyrell fought for King Aerys in the rebellion.  We were Targaryen loyalists.  Always.  My grandmother executed the bastard Joffrey Baratheon.    My sister was three times the Queen of Westeros. My father was Hand of the King. Yet our Queen names a Lannister her hand and a Stark bastard her heir. Then she marries my beautiful sister to the Imp!”

“Guard your words Lord Tyrell – you come close to treason when you call your sister a Queen.  Take your lead from The Starks – they never refer to Robb Stark as anything but The Young Wolf.  Your father made mistakes.  He would have been better to sit out the war - as you did in Highgarden -if he wanted to be thought a Targaryen loyalist.  You should also be aware Lord Tyrion dislikes being referred to as 'the imp'.”

“What do you care?  You dislike Lord Tyrion.”

“There could be advantage in this for you my lord.  You are now good-brother to the Hand of the Queen.”

“My sister is my heir.  If I die Lord Tyrion rules the Reach in my sister’s name. There is advantage to him in that. Do not try to tell me he does not see it.”

“What advantage is there to you in marrying Lady Sansa?”

“Her beauty and her name.  Finding favour with the Queen for my sustained loyalty in the face of her treachery.”

* * *

Jon decided to take a little air himself.  He was surprised to find Lady Mormont also on the battlements.

"I apologise if I seemed to silence you in your grief Lady Mormont.”

“I shouldn’t have spoken as I did, Prince Jon, I know that.  My distain for my nephew is my own, and best kept private.  It’s just I see him - a disgrace to the Mormont name - standing there in his white cloak.  He always thought he was too good for Bear Island. Above the censure of others – when Lord Eddard ordered him executed, instead of facing his fate like a man he fled.  Remember that if he is all that stands between you and those who would do you harm.  A true Mormont does not flee. My Dacey never fled from a fight.  Neither did Lord Eddard or the Young Wolf.”

“I must confess to fleeing once but I was greatly outnumbered by Wildlings and had vital intelligence to get back to The Watch.”

"You do know what you're doing, don't you?  With your sister?"

"I have every confidence in Sansa."

Lady Mormont did not respond to his comment but stared off into the distance.  When she spoke her voice was very quiet.

"People say I named my daughter Lyanna to ingratiate myself with your father - I'm sorry - when I spoke of your father I should have said your uncle, Lord Eddard.  That is not the truth.  I did it to reproach him.  That he should have two daughters and name neither of them for her, for those of us who loved her it seemed a slight.  I think the gods thought so too - for they gave him two daughters who resembled her.  No doubt you have heard everyone say how much Lady Arya looks like your mother but it is Lady Sansa who has her nature. Lyanna hid her true self from most people just as Sansa does.  Lyanna didn't wish to marry Robert Baratheon but she knew it was her duty.  I suspect she shared her reservations with Benjen and also with Lord Eddard.  I doubt she shared them with your uncle Brandon or your grandfather.  Brandon had little interest in anything that didn't directly concern himself and even less in the feelings of women.  Lord Rickard never bothered getting to know any of his children apart from Brandon.  As many men do he mistook recklessness for bravery, and encouraged it in his heir. He said the wolf-blood was strong in Brandon.  He was less fond of the wolf-blood as it showed in Lyanna. He once found her training with weapons and forbade her to continue but she kept it up in secret.  Benjen would share his lessons with her.  Lord Rickard sent her to stay with me the summer she became a woman and I taught her a few things myself.  She was quick of mind - both your sisters resemble her in that."

"You knew her well Lady Mormont?"

"I did, probably the best of anyone still living. She had no mother so she confided in me a little.  She wanted to be a true north-woman like the women of Bear Island and the Neck but your grandfather had his sights set on grand southern marriages for his heir and his only daughter.  So Lyanna had to be raised as though she was a great southern lady.  Just as Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard raised Sansa."

"Their strategy never worked with Arya."

"No.  Some wolves cannot be tamed.  She is like your uncle Brandon in that. Although Lady Arya has more compassion in her little finger than Brandon had in his whole body."

"You didn't like him?"

"No.  I didn't.  I always expected he would get himself killed, though not in such a spectacular fashion. Some men are over-full of their own consequence.  Lord Tyrell seems to be such a man. Clegane is not.  If that man ever spared a thought for his own consequence I would be surprised. I would also be surprised if he let Sana go without a fight. Don't expect him to go meekly to The Wall.  He is more likely to follow her south and bring a whole lot of trouble in his wake."


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your insightful comments on the last chapter. After such a long drought - here is another short chapter. I can write Sansa again YAY!

When Ser Jorah came to her door Sansa was tempted to refuse to go with him, but the command came from Jon, who had spoken so kindly to her this morning, so she settled for making him wait. 

She changed her dress.  Unfortunately all the dresses she had left after Brienne's purge were too tight across the chest and left her scarcely able to raise her arms above her shoulders, so Arya – who had returned to Sansa’s room as soon as she was finished in the yard - braided her hair and then they picked out a shawl Sansa could drape over her shoulders to conceal her ample cleavage.

As soon as she stepped out into the hallway Sansa felt grateful for the little bird necklace she wore around her neck.  The sight of Ser Jorah waiting there in his white cloak almost made her afraid.  She wished they had not sent a Knight of the Queensguard for her.  It brought back memories she would rather forget.  After her father’s death the sight of any Kingsguard except Sandor had always filled her with dread _.  I was always relieved when it was Sandor who came for me._ To her surprise Arya followed her out of the room.

“I’m coming with you.” Her sister announced, loud enough for Ser Jorah to hear. 

“As you wish Lady Arya.” Ser Jorah started on his way, walking ahead of them, with Sansa behind him and Arya behind her. 

Sansa could hear her heart beating loudly in her ears.  Her hands felt clammy.  She felt nervous, uneasy.  She wished again that her brother had sent Stark men for her. 

They arrived at the door to Bran’s solar too quickly for her taste.  The two Stark men standing guard at the door were all business.  One of them knocked on the door and swung it open.  “Lady Sansa, Lady Arya, and Ser Jorah.” He announced, stepping to the side to allow them to pass into the room.

Sansa had expected to see Jon and Bran but in addition to them she saw every noble visitor to Winterfell gathered in Bran’s solar.  She tried to avoid looking at Lord Tyrell and Ser Barristan but she forced a weak smile for Lady Mormont and Ser Davos who had always been good to her. Everyone, with the exception of Lord Stokeworth seemed to sit straighter in their chairs at her arrival.  Lord Stokeworth seemed more interested in the tankard in his hand.

“Have you heard the news Lady Sansa? Your former husband has re-married.”  Lord Willas announced loudly and Sansa stumbled.  _No gods no.  He would never. What did they make him do? I thought the Queen wanted him at The Wall?_

“What Lord Tyrell meant to say is that Lord Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen has married,” Jon’s voice was cold as the ice wall he had guarded so long.  “I’m sure you are aware, Lord Tyrell, that Sansa was never truly married to Lord Tyrion and so to refer to him as her _former_ husband is misleading.”

Sansa recovered herself with ease.  _Lord Willas was talking about Tyrion.  Did he mean for me to misunderstand him as I did?_    Lord Tyrion’s marriage was of little interest to her given her own situation.  “I wish Lord Tyrion happy.  You must convey my best wishes to him when you see him Jon.”

“Of course sister, will you take my chair?” Jon stood up and offered his seat to her.  Though it was Bran who sat behind the table, Sansa had the impression that Jon was in charge of this gathering. She took the seat offered to her and Arya came to stand behind her chair.  Jon raised his eyebrow at his youngest sister.  “Do you wish to stay Arya?  Can I have someone fetch you a chair?”

“I wish to stay but I am happy to stand.”

“Very well.” Jon turned his attention back to Sansa.  “Sansa, Lord Tyrell is insistent that the marriage contract the Queen negotiated with him for your hand be honoured.  Bran was not happy with the terms and sought to re-negotiate them with the Queen.  Ser Barristan has set out the new terms in a letter to Queen Daenerys but we cannot expect a reply for some days yet.  Lord Tyrell wishes the matter to be resolved now.  So we have all agreed - Bran, Lord Tyrell, and I - that the final decision in this matter will be yours.  We have asked you here before these witnesses to ask what _you_ want.  Do you want to marry Lord Tyrell and become the lady of Highgarden?  I know this situation has taken you by surprise but Ser Barristan assures me that both the Queen and Lord Willas have sought to do you honour with this proposal.”

“I thank the Queen and Lord Willas for the honour they have done me, but I cannot in all conscience accept.  I am already married before the old gods - the gods of my father and the North.  I have lived with another man as his wife. It would be wrong to ask Lord Willas to accept me under such circumstances.”

“Your circumstances were known to me Lady Sansa.  The old gods are not mine, or the Queen’s, they have no place in the South.  A southern godswood is no more than a garden.  I am truly sorry you had to suffer the indignity of believing yourself truly married to that ugly sell-sword but you will forget all you suffered at his hands in time.  We need never speak of him again.”

“He’s not a sell-sword! He’s the Commander of Winterfell’s garrison,” Arya’s voice rang with indignation.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with being a sell-sword,” Lord Stokeworth observed, taking a swig from his tankard.  “I was one myself once.”

“Lord Willas, you are not listening to me. I believe in the old gods.  I believe myself truly married to Sandor Clegane.  I have never suffered anything at his hands; in fact he has always made it his business to spare me from suffering where he could.  He is my husband.  I am his wife.  In my heart.  Before my gods.  I cannot marry you.”

“You truly wish to turn down the Queen’s gesture of goodwill?  The opportunity to be the lady of Highgarden? You honestly prefer to remain the Hound’s bitch?”

“Lord Tyrell.  You forget yourself.  My sisters are high born ladies, nieces to our Queen and you will not use such language in front of them.”

Sansa almost opened her mouth to say that she was sure she and Arya had both heard much worse language, some of it from Sandor himself, when she felt Arya’s small hand squeeze her shoulder through her shawl and decided it would be better to remain silent.

“Lord Tyrell,” Sansa felt Arya shift behind her and reached up to grab her sister’s hand where it rested on her shoulder but she was too late.  Arya had stepped forward. “My sister does not feel herself at liberty to accept you.  If you genuinely wish for an alliance with House Stark I would be willing to accept your offer so long as the bride price remains the same, of course most of the other terms of the contract would no longer apply.  I would not need to spend a year at Oldtown; we could be married right away.”

The room was so quiet; the only sound was that of Lord Stokeworth sitting up straight in his chair, the tankard in his hand finally forgotten.

_Oh gods! Oh gods! She didn’t even talk to Bran about it first.  Let him refuse her, please let him refuse her._

“You?” Lord Tyrell laughed.  He looked Arya up and down as though she were a horse.  “The lady of Highgarden does not wear breeches and a sword and fight in the yard with the men of the garrison.  She certainly doesn’t laugh and jest with them as though they were her equals.  The gods know what other liberties you allow them.  You behave more like a camp follower than a soldier.  I should not like to look into the face of my heir to see the child of one of my foot soldiers looking back at me.”

Arya’s mouth fell open.  Sansa reached out to grab her by the hand.  It seemed as though everyone else had been shocked into silence.

“You will apologise to my sister at once.” Bran’s voice was as icy as Jon’s had been.  His Lord’s voice, more lordly than she had ever heard it.  “To both my sisters.”

Lord Tyrell laughed.  “It’s you who should apologise to them.  Your poor oversight has made whores of them.  That’s what happens when you leave a crippled little boy in charge of his older sisters. Your Northern lords may bow and scrape to the memory of Stark greatness but I will not.”

“Time to go I think.” Lord Stokeworth rose to his feet, a little unsteadily.  Sansa wondered if she was the only one to think his unsteadiness was exaggerated.

“Sit.  Back. Down.” Jon was accustomed to giving orders and Lord Stokeworth had a long history of largely obeying them so he sat. “When we return to King’s Landing I will expect all of you to make a full account of Lord Tyrell’s behaviour today to the Queen.  He was sent here by her Grace on a diplomatic mission.  A mission he has proved himself unfit for.  I hereby formally remove him from his position as Queen’s Envoy. Ser Jorah, Ser Barristan escort Lord Tyrell to the Queen’s encampment.  Order his man to pack his things and bring them to him there.  He will spend the rest of his visit confined to a tent outside Winterfell’s walls.”

Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah moved to obey Jon’s orders.  Lord Tyrell did not fight them, if anything he looked somewhat pleased and as they walked him from the room he turned back over his shoulder and smiled at Sansa.  She quickly looked away.  For the first time she wondered if he was quite sane.

“That young man has no sense,” Ser Davos observed.

“I never thought to meet a man with less sense than Mace Tyrell, but one lives to be surprised I suppose.” Lord Stokeworth mused.  “I wouldn’t mind betting that that little display has lost him Selmy.”

Lady Mormont was stroking the dagger in her belt, no doubt imagining she was sinking it repeatedly into Lord Tyrell’s flesh.

“Lord Stark, I know this is not the best time but I have a favour to ask of you.” Bran who had been staring at the table in front of him looked up at Lady Mormont in surprise.  “I was wondering if I might send my youngest daughter Lyanna to live with you here at Winterfell.  Lyanna has not had the opportunity to be away from home as her older sisters have and I think she would be a good companion for your sisters.  She has an interest in fancy work and songs and poetry that leaves me a little at a loss.  I thought Lady Sansa might take her under her wing.  She’s also quite handy with an axe and I think she would like to learn to use a sword as Lady Arya does.”

“Oh do say yes Bran.  I so want to learn to fight with an axe.  Alysanne will never agree to teach me and I don’t like to trouble Lady Mormont with the task,” Arya gushed.

Sansa shook her head in disbelief for a moment.  She could not believe they were talking about this now.  Surely there was so much else to be settled.  Sandor was still in a dungeon.  She glanced up at Lady Mormont, it wasn’t until she met the older woman’s eyes that she realised what she was doing.  Lord Willas had accused Bran of being unable to look after his sisters and Lady Mormont was asking him to take on the care of her much loved youngest daughter who was a full year older than him. She was showing her faith in him.  Arya had picked up on it straight away.  She had also deferred to her brother, asking him to agree.  Sansa decided to add her voice to her sister’s.

“Lady Lyanna does sound ideally suited to be a companion to both of us Bran, if you will consent to Lady Mormont’s proposal?”

Bran nodded at Lady Mormont, “We would be happy to welcome your daughter Lady Mormont.”

“Thank you my lord. You honour my daughter.”

“It will be our pleasure.  My sisters will be grateful for the companionship. I am so sorry we have taken up so much of your time this morning Lady Mormont; Lord Stokeworth; Ser Davos,” Bran nodded to each of them in turn.

“I think I speak for us all when I say I am most happy the matter has been resolved and that neither of your sisters will have to marry that man. Lord Stannis always had a great dislike of the Tyrells.”

“I certainly won’t be sorry to be spared the sight of his face for the next few days,” Lord Stokeworth was standing again, not unsteadily at all.

“I will leave you to your own devices for the rest of the day but perhaps you would all be willing to join us again this evening to attend a wedding.”


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise it's another chapter! 
> 
> Who knew fallow periods were followed by periods of frantic activity? 
> 
> Thanks to all who have commented and left kudos - you keep me going. Thanks for not abandoning this story during my period of GOT induced writer's block.
> 
> Apologies for any spelling or grammar errors I have proofed it so many times I am now reading what should be there in preference to what is.

Sandor tugs on the left cuff of his undershirt.  The shirt the little bird made for him with her own perfect hands.  At least he has something with him to remind him of her.  _She was here last night, here in my cell, trying to rescue me.  My little bird and the she-wolf trying to rescue me, the big old Hound.  When did things get so turned around?_   He laughs when he realises they’re not turned around at all, those two girls saved him years ago.  They reminded him of the man he had wanted to be, and they gave him a second chance without asking him to earn it. They reminded him what it was to care about another person, to want to protect them just because you could, because the world was a brighter place because they made it that way.

“You’d like them Lenore,” he said to the empty dungeon, saying his sister’s name aloud for the first time in so many years.

“Who’s Lenore?” The boy’s voice comes out of the blackness beyond the nearest pool of torchlight.

“Damn it Rickon!  Did those cannibals teach you to walk on air?”

Rickon steps out into the nearest pool of torchlight; Sandor observes his bare feet and no longer wonders at his quiet steps. 

“They weren’t cannibals, not really.  They just want us to think so, so we’ll leave them alone.”

“Good to know. What are you doing down here?  Your brother will tan your hide.”

“Bran never hits me.  Anyway he sent me - me and some others - but I put out the torch and ran away from them.”

“Rickon!”

“He should have known better than to send them with me.  I didn’t like any of them.”

“What about Shaggy?  Why isn’t he with you?”

“He doesn’t like the dungeons.”

“Why not? He likes the crypts well enough.” Rickon tilts his head to one side – thinking - a gesture that reminds him of Sansa.

“He likes the crypts because Father’s there, and Robb, and Aunt Lyanna and Uncle Brandon and grandfather, and all the old kings and their wolves. He doesn’t like the way it smells down here.  He would have come down _for you_ but I told him not to bother.”

“He’s waiting at the entrance to the dungeons isn’t he?” Rickon nodded, a mischievous smile playing across his face.  “You know he won’t let anyone else past.  That if the people you lost down here do manage to find the entrance again, they won’t be able to get out.”

“I know.”

“Who’s down here? You need to go find them.”

“You find them if you want to.”

“Rickon, I’m in a cell.” Rickon stuffed a hand into the pocket of his breeches and when he pulled it out again there was a key resting in his hand.  A large key, longer than the boy’s palm.  “Rickon, is that the key to my cell?  Where did you get that?”

“Bran gave it to me - actually he gave it to Finn, but I took it from him after I put the torch out.”

“Why did Bran give you the key?” Sandor is so tempted to tell Rickon to let him out, but he knows it would be wrong to encourage him to defy his lord and brother.

“He sent us to let you out and bring you to him.  He said he has matters to discuss with you before you wed.” Rickon inserts the key in the lock and turns it, swinging the door open.  It groans and Rickon swings it closed and then opens it again.  “It sounds just like the door of a dungeon cell should sound,” he muses aloud before repeating the action.

“Before I’m wed?”

“Yes, you’re to marry Sansa in the Sept tonight.  The ravens Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan sent to the Queen yesterday won’t even have arrived in King’s Landing by then.  At least, that’s what Jon says.”

Sandor feels something deep inside him relax.  He’ll get to stay husband to the little bird and the Queen and the High Septon will have to recognise it if they marry before The Seven.

“I forgot!  The buggering septon’s down here somewhere, we were supposed to bring him back too.”

Sandor swallowed.  “Rickon, where did you hear that word?”

“You say it all the time in the yard when you train the men.  Did I use it right?”

“Yes and no.  Yes in the sense I’ve used those two words together many times myself; and no in the sense it’s not a word little lordlings should use.”

“Osha said some of the words I learned on Skagos are like that. Why do _you_ use it then?”

“Because I’m not a little lordling, I’m a fighting man.  It’s the kind of language fighting men use with one another.”

“But I’ve heard you say it in front of Sansa and Arya.”

“That may be so, but you’ve never heard either of them say it have you?”

“No.”

“That’s because they know better and now, so do you.  Stop playing with that door and let me out of this cell.”

It didn’t take them long to find Finn, the two other guardsmen and the young spear-wife Ann – the other members of Rickon’s party.  They had rather sensibly sat down in the corridor and waited to be found rather than wandering off and getting lost in the dungeons.

“We thought you’d come back for us Commander, once the little lord had let you out,” Ann said scrambling to her feet, she was young, maybe Arya’s age, and pretty.

“Which of you let the boy carry your only torch?”

“He demanded it Commander, and we thought it best to give into him.  He’d already been a little difficult and we thought it best to placate him.”

“Don’t placate him Finn.  He’ll never respect you if you do. Half the time he’s only difficult to test you out.  When was the last time you saw Lord Stark or Osha try to placate him?”

“I’m sorry Commander.”

“As punishment it falls to you to carry the torch now.” Sandor thrusts the flaming torch towards Finn and wonders if the others can see how relieved he is to have it out of his hands.  “Now lead the way, I understand we have a septon to find.”

* * *

Sansa has just finished reading through the two sheets of parchment.  She looks across at Bran, sitting on the other side of the table.  The two of them are alone in Bran’s solar.  Jon made some excuse to leave. Bran was going to send Arya to get Sandor from the dungeons but Sansa asked if Arya would help her prepare for the ceremony.  So Arya is waiting outside the door now while Sansa and Bran discuss this last piece of business.

“You wrote this yourself,” she says.

“Of course I did.  The maester was up half the night drafting the revised marriage contract between you and Lord Tyrell; I could hardly ask him to do this as well.”

“So you were prepared for either eventuality then?  You had no preference?”

“Of course I had a preference.  I made my preference clear when I married you to Sandor in the first place.  Some of the offers I had for you, they weren’t quite as bad as I had you believe.  But, the preference you made known today, it is your true preference, it has nothing to do with the child?”

“How did you-?  Fucking green-seer!” As soon the words are out Sansa clamps a hand over her mouth.  “Oh Bran! I’m so sorry!”

Bran only laughs.  “Sandor said the same thing to me once, in exactly the same tone. In the revised marriage contract I would have given your child the Stark name and made him - or her - my heir after Rickon.  Would that have swayed you?”

“It would not.  Lord Tyrell is a horrible man.  How could you think I would want to marry him?”

“He’s handsome, and rich.  The Lady of Highgarden would have a certain power, especially as his arrogance makes him blind to his own stupidity.  You could play him like a lute.  The Queen of Thorns ruled Highgarden behind the scenes for two generations. I don’t imagine Lord Willas would have noticed if you did the same.”

“I gave up the idea of being Joffrey’s Queen with considerable relief.  Being the Lady of Highgarden is not so great a prize that I would be tempted by it.”

“The Lady of Hornwood is not much of a prize in comparison.”

“You could always give us the Dreadfort instead.”

“I mean to keep it for Rickon when he comes of age.  If I marry and produce heirs he must have something and he’d like to be your closest neighbour.  Besides Hornwood is in much better repair than the Dreadfort, you could move in tomorrow if you wished it. As it is, by the time Rickon comes into the Dreadfort he will have to be your guest at Hornwood for years before it is fit to inhabit.”

“Bran, is there – is there a chance that you might marry and produce heirs?”

“The maester thinks so.  He thinks my best chance would be to marry a widow once I come of age. A woman who’s had at least one healthy child already.”

“That’s wonderful news.  I am so happy for you.”

“I am relieved myself.  It takes the burden off the rest of you.”

Sansa pauses a moment. “Bran, must we keep calling it Hornwood?  It’s just every time I hear the name I think of poor Lady Hornwood and what the bastard of Bolton did to her and then to Jeyne.”

“Do you have another name in mind?”

“I should like to call it Autumn Keep.”

“Autumn Keep and Winterfell – they kind of go together don’t they?  Lord and Lady Clegane of Autumn Keep – I like the sound of it.”

“I do too.  The Lord and Lady Clegane bit most of all. But Autumn Keep fits us. Sandor and I first met in the autumn and his banners are autumn yellow.”

“Do you require anything else of me Sansa?  Is there anything else that I could do to increase your happiness?”

“You’ve all ready done it Bran.  I don’t think I would have had the courage to let myself love Sandor if you hadn’t made him mine first. I do have a question though. Are you giving us Autumn Keep because you want us to leave Winterfell?”

“No.  I am giving you Autumn Keep so you _can_ leave Winterfell if and when you want to.  I don’t imagine Sandor is very happy with me for sending him to the dungeons, or for considering Lord Tyrell’s offer for your hand.  He may wish to take you away from here, and I cannot blame him for that.  In fact there is only one thing I will ask of you if you leave and that is for you to take Rickon with you.”

“What-?”

“He needs parents Sansa.  He’s been asking for them ever since he came back and whatever anyone thinks about it he picked you and Sandor.   We owe it to him to give him some structure and direction.  Whether you stay at Winterfell or move to Autumn Keep you and Sandor will be his foster parents.”

“But what of Osha?  And Arya?”

“They might spend half the year here and the other half at Autumn Keep.”

“What about Lyanna Mormont?  You only just said you would take her.”

“Lady Mormont only asked me to take Lyanna to show she doesn’t question my ability to serve as guardian to my sisters.”

“I think it was more than that.  I think she has ambitions for Lyanna.”

“Ambitions?”

“Bran, it’s obvious she means for Lyanna to make a good marriage.  The Mormont’s are not rich but their name is old.  Her uncle was mentor to the new crown prince; she was named after the prince’s mother; her cousin is a knight of the Queensguard.  I have heard it said that she is the prettiest of the Mormont girls, and her mother’s favourite besides.  She’ll never find anyone suitable on Bear Island; none of her sisters have - unless you count Alysanne’s bear as a suitable match, which I don’t.”

“You don’t think?”

“I do.”

“That’s not possible.  You weren’t here when Robb called Father’s banners.  Every lord who came had a sister, or a daughter or a grand-daughter they wanted to draw to his notice.  They were never like that with me.  Lord Reed even told me I was too young for Meera.”

“You are too young for her. She’s a full nine years older than you.”

“Sandor’s sixteen years older than you.”

“Meera would have been twenty-five by the time you were of age.  Lord Howland has no other heirs; he has to think of the succession.”

“Lady Lyanna’s not a widow.”

“No.  But she is only a year older than you and she’s also a Mormont.  There would be advantages in that; she could lead Stark men into battle.  You must see if you like her, and if she likes you. There are still two years until you come of age. You’d have plenty of time to get to know each other.”

“Are you seriously match-making on your wedding day Sansa?”

“I seriously am little brother.”

* * *

“What were you and Bran talking about? You were gone an age.  I half-expected to see Rickon and Finn come back with Sandor before you were finished.” Arya remarked as they walked back to Sansa’s room.

“Bran is to make Sandor a lord before the wedding; he is to be the lord of Autumn Keep, making him a fit husband for the Queen’s niece.”

“Where’s Autumn Keep?”

“It used to be Hornwood.”

“You’re moving to Hornwood?”

“Autumn Keep!  But I think - or at least I hope – we’ll stay here for a few years yet, as long as Sandor isn’t too angry with Bran.”

“If he isn’t angry enough about being tossed into the dungeons and drugged I think being made a lord’s likely to push him over the edge. He hates all that stuff.”

“He’ll get over it. I don’t think anything could make him angry today, not now.  I wish I could have gone down to the dungeons to get him myself.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be bad luck for the bride and groom to see each other before the wedding?”

“We’re married in the sight of the old gods all ready.  This is just a formality.”

“You’re very excited about a formality.”

“Of course I’m excited Arya.  I get to marry the man I love.” Sansa broke into a run and Arya dashed after her.  By the time they arrived at Sansa’s room they were both breathless and giggling.  The tension of the last few days having finally left them. Sansa’s door was all ready open and Osha and Brienne were waiting for them.

“I hope you brought back my black and yellow dress Brienne, it’s the only thing I have that’s suitable for getting married in.”

“I’m afraid that’s not true my lady.  Your brother has had a wedding dress made for you.  Two seamstresses were up half the night finishing it.  Osha has brought it up for you.”

Sansa’s face broke into a smile and she moved towards the bed where she assumed the dress would be laid out, but Osha held up a hand to dissuade her.  “I warn you milady, you won’t like it.” Sansa slowed her steps and Arya moved to join her. 

They stood staring at the dress for a few moments.

“Bran cannot be serious!” Arya exclaimed.

“Lord Stark was very clear in his instructions.”

“He can’t expect me to marry Sandor wearing this.  He can’t.”

“You must see Lady Sansa, he has to make it seem as though he was willing to accept the Queen’s plan.  Lord Stokeworth, Ser Davos, Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan will all be at the wedding.  The Queen will ask them what you were wearing and this dress will leave a clear impression. You’ll still wear your Stark maiden’s cloak of course. It will conceal it to a degree.”

“I know you don’t want to wear it San, but remember you are all ready married.  This is just a farce you have to go through for the southerners, as such it’s only fitting that you wear southern costume.”


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments & the kudos and for following/reading this story.
> 
> This chapter comes with a warning for: sexy thoughts, poor musicianship, the singing of an unwelcome song, poison, confusion, violence, and the death of a significant character. The death is quite gruesome but it occurs off-page as the pov character is hiding under a table at the time.

Sansa wants to run across the yard to the sept.  She is aching to see Sandor, to pledge herself to him again, to lose herself in the warmth of his embrace.  She makes a conscious effort to slow her steps.

“You do look beautiful.” Arya whispers from behind her where she is wrestling with Sansa's train, trying to keep it out of the mud. 

Sansa can accept that the red and gold brocade is flattering to her red hair and pale skin.  To be fair the dress could be worse, at least it is in the Northern style, not the artfully arranged wisps of fabric that pass for dresses in The Reach. 

The wildlings that live at Winterfell are clustered in the middle of the yard - eyeing the sept warily - they cheer as Sansa passes them and she gives them a bright smile.

Jon and Ghost are waiting at the door of the sept for them.  Jon smiles at her when she stops to stand next to him wearing her rose patterned dress and her Stark cloak.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he guides her hand through his arm, “about all of this.”

She pats his arm reassuringly.  "This was not your doing Jon.  I thank you for allowing me to decide for myself, for supporting my decision.”

“Lord Tyrell is not inside,” Jon reassures her.  “He remains in a tent in the Queen’s camp.  Four men volunteered to stay and guard him during the celebrations.  I’ll send others to spell them later so they can attend part of the feast.”

“Thank you Jon.” Sansa is pleased Lord Willas will never see her wearing his sigil.

“Shall we go inside?” Jon asks.  Sansa nods in response, she feels suddenly nervous.  Something is fluttering in her tummy, and she wonders if could be the baby – but the maester told her this afternoon that it is much too early for her to feel it move.

The small sept is packed.  Sansa never imagined it could hold so many people.  It smells of rushes and smoke and bodies.  All their other noble visitors are present and Bran is with them, sitting in his Lord’s chair, Summer lolling at his feet  The rest of the congregation seems to be made up of Winterfell’s people and soldiers from Winterfell and the camps outside her walls. 

The Septon is standing on the steps below the high altar, and standing at the foot of the steps, on the Septon’s left-hand side is her husband.  Sandor stands tall and proud, his hair braided back from his face. Once she’s looked at him, met his eyes, seen the way he’s looking at her she can’t look away.  Jon leads her towards the altar.  She is conscious only of Sandor in front of her, Jon beside her and Arya behind her, still wrestling with her train. 

It seems to take forever to cross the small sept to the altar.  She can pinpoint the exact moment that Sandor notices her dress, she knows that the sight of it must remind him of how close he came to losing her and she starts hating it all over again.  She shivers in anticipation at the thought of him tearing it off her body in their bedchamber later.

Finally she is there, at the foot of the steps.  Only Jon stands between her and Sandor.  He takes her hand from where it rests on his arm and gives it to Sandor.  Sandor lifts her hand to his lips and kisses it.  The contact of his lips on her skin sends another thrill through her, shocks her a little, so the rest of the sept comes back into focus and she sees Rickon beside him, holding the bride’s cloak at the ready, Shaggy at his feet.

She can hear Arya and Jon moving behind her.  Arya is moving her train out of the way so Jon can remove her maiden’s cloak. _Soon I will be Lady Sansa of House Clegane again._

“Lady Sansa of House Stark,” Sandor releases her hand to kneel before her.   “Over four years ago I knelt before you and pledged myself to your service.  Five moons ago I stood in Winterfell’s godswood and took you as my wife before the gods of your father.  Today I kneel before you in this sept, the sept your father built for love of your mother, and I renew my commitment to you.  Not only will I be the shield that protects you, and the sword that defends you.  I will also be the heart that loves you, the body that worships you, the mind that respects you for as long as I live.  I thank you for choosing me as your husband, I will never give you cause to regret your choice.”

Sansa didn’t know how to respond.  Should she kneel before him and declare her love too?  She tries to speak but the words seem to trip over one another as they battle to get from her throat into her mouth.  She wants to burst into tears.  She wants to hold him.  She wants this to be over, to be alone with him, to show him how much he means to her.  Her body aches to touch him, so she reaches out with one hand, the hand that he had so recently held and kissed, and touches the scarred side of his face. It is amazing how just being in contact with his skin again has the ability to calm her.

“Lord Clegane, my husband, my dearest love.  I beg you to rise and marry me again before the gods of my mother, to put all doubts about our marriage to rest.  Wrap me in your cloak.  I want nothing more than to be your wife.”

* * *

Sansa had never expected love to feel like this.  As a small girl she’d imagined it as an out-of-body experience.  She thought it would involve longing looks and poetry and feeling like her head had soared off into the clouds.  Instead Sansa feels as though she inhabits her body more fully than she ever has before.  She never knew her body could physically crave the presence of another; that parts of her could throb with desire; that her body was capable of such intense pleasure.  When all she wants is her wedding night it makes her wedding feast feel like a subtle kind of torture.

There is no question that Osha has done an excellent job of throwing a wedding feast together at the last moment but Sansa can’t quite scrape together the courtesy to thank her for it just now – when she is wishing for it to end.  _I’ll thank her tomorrow for the feast._   The only thing Sansa feels like thanking Osha for right now is the table cloth which reaches to the floor and conceals Sansa’s hand resting on her husband’s thigh.  She wishes she had the courage to move it a little higher.

“Sansa, what are you doing?” Sandor asks softly, leaning closer to her so their conversation can’t be overheard. 

“Wishing you and I were alone in our bedchamber.”

He groans softly.  “You’re killing me, Sansa. How am I going to keep my hands off you tonight?”

“What do you mean?  We have to consummate the marriage.”

“You’re with child Sansa; we have to wait until we consult with the maester. I won’t risk any harm coming to you or to our child.”

“I spoke to the maester this afternoon before I came to the sept.  I sent Brienne to fetch him.  He told me it’s still early.  That as long as I have the desire to, we may do as we please.”

“Truly Sansa?”

“Truly.  He even told me that some women experience increased desire for their husbands when they are with child. Sandor ... I think I may be one of those women.” She slides her hand up his thigh under the table.  He brings his hand over hers and drags it back down in the direction of his knee.

“Really?” He turns her hand, so the back of it rests on his thigh and slips his fingers through hers to hold her hand under the table. “Then you may still be the death of me but for entirely different reasons.”

She knows from the sparkle in his grey eyes that he speaks in jest and she squeezes his hand under the table.  She wants to feel his lips on hers, and to hear the sweet rumble of his voice whispering words of love as he moves inside her.  She aches for him.  She craves him.  She wants to rest her head on his broad chest and fall asleep to the sound of his heart beating steadily under her ear _._ She wonders what it will be like tonight.  Will they take it slow or will their passion overwhelm them?

At that moment the band begins to play, badly.  It has been cobbled together from the soldiers gathered at Winterfell so it is mainly drums and pipes.  Though someone did manage to find a lute.  Sansa sighs.  She stabs a piece of meat with the tines of her fork and lifts it to her mouth, giving her husband a smile as she begins to chew.  She keeps her other hand in his under the table.  She finds it easier to focus now she’s touching him.  She forces herself to pay attention to the music, the wedding guests, and the couples dancing. 

The seating arrangements in the Great Hall are different tonight.  Only the family is seated at the high table on the dais.  Lady Mormont sits at the head of one of the lower tables, with Ser Davos, her men and the men of House Manderly.  Lord Stokeworth sits at another with the Lannister men.  Ser Barristan sits at a third with the Queen’s men.  Brienne sits at the head of a table of Winterfell men, women and wildlings. While Ser Jorah stands behind Jon’s seat at the high table.

Sansa smiles up at the servant who moves along the high table refilling their goblets with wine.   He swallows and smiles back at her as he fills her goblet, then he moves further along the table to top up Bran’s.  Sansa has the oddest sensation that something isn’t right.  _I don’t know him_.  Men are scarce in the North.  This man wore Stark colours but no man at Winterfell served at table.  The young boys helped in the kitchen and drawing water, and when they were old enough they started training to be soldiers.  Sansa drops her fork.  She turns to look at her husband; he is just raising his goblet to his mouth.  She knocks it out of his hand and it falls spilling its contents on the table cloth, which begins to smoke in front of her eyes. 

“Don’t drink the wine!” she screams, but her words are drowned out by the music as the musicians grind through a transition from one song to another.  She doesn’t recognise the song at first, even though she sat through interminable renditions of it at Joffrey’s wedding.

It is Arya who leaps to her feet, Arya who screams and Arya who falls to the floor.  But Sansa is the only one looking at Arya.  All other eyes are on the Lannister men who have just begun to sing:

 

_And who are you, the proud lord said,_

_that I must bow so low?*_  

 

Before Sansa can process what’s happening Sandor is pulling her by the hand, dragging her out of her chair and pushing her towards the floor.

 

"Stay down, stay safe.  I'll be back for you." He says and then he is gone. All she can hear are the sounds of music and confusion.

 

“Stop that man!”

 

_Only a cat of a different coat,_

_that’s all the truth I know_

 

“Protect the prince!” She heard someone yell, she thought it might have been Ser Jorah.

 

“Protect the Starks!” That was Brienne.

 

Without thinking Sansa slips under the table where she will be concealed by the table cloth.  She crawls along on her hands and knees until she reaches the place Arya was sitting.  She peeks out from under the cloth and sees Arya lying on the floor, to all appearances unconscious.  Sansa cannot see any wounds, any arrows.  Could Arya have fainted? Arya, her fearless little sister?

 

_In a coat of gold or a coat of red,_

_a lion still has claws,_

_And mine are long and sharp, my lord,_

_as long and sharp as yours._

 

The band lurches to a halt but the noise in the room is only growing louder.  There is shouting and the clash of steel. Then a loud dog-like bark followed by the sound of snarling - the direwolves must have come in from the yard where they’d been enjoying their own dinner.

 

“For the Queen!”

 

“Stand down all of you! Stand down at once!” Jon.

 

“Stop this madness!”

 

“Get out of the bloody way!”

 

Where is Rickon?  Where is Sandor?  Sansa can’t leave Arya lying alone on the floor like this. She crawls out from under the table until she’s close enough to grab hold of Arya by the shoulders.  She notices the rise and fall of her sister’s chest with relief but Arya is much too heavy for her to move on her own. 

Whatever is happening must be happening below the dais.  The only other person she can see on this side of the table is Bran on the floor beside his chair, his dagger drawn, Summer at his side.  When he sees her, Bran motions for her to hide again. Suddenly Rickon appears at her side and the two of them are able to drag Arya under the table, where at least she is hidden and not liable to be stepped on by anyone who sets foot on the dais.

“Sansa, what’s happening?” Rickon asks her, his eyes wide in the semi-darkness of their hiding place.

All Sansa can think of are the final lines of the song:

 

_...now the rains weep o’er his hall,_

_and not a soul to hear._

 

“I think someone tried to kill us,” she finally says.

“What should we do?”

“I have my dagger,” she says, remembering it strapped inside her boot.  “Do you have yours? The one Lord Tyrion sent for you?” He nods.  “Then you should get it out.  Did Sandor and Arya show you how to use it?” He nods again.  “Good. Rickon, you were sitting next to Arya?  Did you see what happened to her?”

“She screamed.  She stood up and then she fell.  I think she hit her head on the floor.”

Sansa pulled Arya’s head into her lap.  She runs her hands over her sister’s skull.  She doesn’t feel the sticky wetness of blood, but she thinks there might be a lump.

“What should we do?”  Rickon asks again.  Sansa thinks for a moment.  They should probably leave the hall, but there is no way they could carry Arya – even together the two of them aren’t strong enough.

“You should go Rickon.” But where?  To the maester’s tower?  To the stables to grab a horse? To ride where? To White Harbour?  Or Greywater Watch?  Or Last Hearth?  Or The Wall? “The crypts, Rickon.  Go to the crypts. Wait there, see what happens.”

“No. I’m not a baby anymore.” Even in the low light Sansa can make out the jut of her little brother’s jaw.

“I know you’re not a baby Rickon, but you’re Bran’s heir. You have a responsibility to keep yourself safe.”

“What about you?”

“I can’t leave Arya.” _Or Sandor. I won’t leave him either._

“I’m not going.”

Sansa opens her mouth to argue, but before she can say a word she hears Sandor's voice.  

“Where’s my wife?  Where’s Sansa?”

“She’s under the table.  With Rickon and Arya.” Bran’s voice.

Someone lifts the table cloth on the side of the table that is open to the Great Hall and she finds herself staring up into Sandor’s grey eyes.

“Sansa, are you hurt?”

“No, but Arya’s unconscious. Rickon thinks she hit her head.”

“Let me take her.” Sandor reached under the table and scooped Arya up in his arms as though she weighs nothing.  “Someone fetch the maester at once, Lady Arya’s hurt.” Sandor lays his good-sister down on one of the tables below the dais, sending the few dishes remaining on the table clattering to the floor.

“Osha sent Ann for the maester already Commander.” Finn called from somewhere beyond Sansa’s view.

“Is she all right?  I saw her fall.” Jon came into Sansa’s line of vision and collapsed onto the bench at Arya’s side, Ser Jorah followed him.

“Rickon said she hit her head.” Sandor answers shortly as he crosses back to Sansa.  He holds out his hand to help her out from under the table.  She grasps it eagerly, and when she is on her feet and standing beside him she can't stop herself from reaching for him, from wrapping her arms around him, from bursting into tears. He wraps his arms about her in return.

“You’re alright little bird, you’re alright.  Your brothers are fine.  The maester will be here any moment to see to your sister.”

“The wine Sandor, do you think she drank the wine?”

“She didn’t.” It was Rickon who spoke.  Sansa looked up to see him sitting in front of the high table on the edge of the dais.

“Then why did she scream?”

“It must have been the song.  They were playing it at the wedding feast when your mother and brother were killed. We heard it.  The song.  The screams. The musicians were bloody awful that night too.” Sandor said.

“I think she must have fainted, but Arya doesn’t faint.” Sansa said, confused.

“It was a terrible night for her.  She even lost herself for a bit after.  Forgot who she was, or didn’t want to be herself anymore.  In the two years she’s been back she’s never spoken of it.  Has she?”

Sansa shook her head.  She hadn’t even known about the song.

"Fucking Freys.” Someone mumbled.

“Fucking Lannisters.” Someone else.

“Lord Lannister is the Hand of the Queen.” Lord Stokeworth.

“And his father was Hand of the King to three Kings. Two of them false.”

“Stop it all of you!” Bran snapped.  “Someone just tried to kill the Queen’s nephew, me and all my family.  Did anyone catch the serving man?”

“Lady Mormont and her men went after him.” Sandor.

Sansa looked up at her husband, “You have blood on your face.” She started to feel a little dizzy.

“Not mine.  The idiot tried to fucking stab me.” Sansa followed Sandor’s hand, he was pointing at a pile of clothes on the ground.

“In the back no less.” Ser Davos.  “I saw it all my lady.  Your husband had no choice. Lord Tyrell meant to kill him.”

“No.” _Lord Tyrell wasn't even supposed to be here.  No.  Not another separation.  Not another trial by combat._ “No.”

“I didn’t even know it was him.  I was fighting another man when he came at me from behind.”

“They’ll try to take you away from me again.  They’ll put you on trial again.” Sansa can feel herself starting to panic, the coppery scent of blood is beginning to turn her stomach.

“The wound your husband gave Lord Tyrell didn't cause his death.  The black direwolf ripped his throat out.  I am not the only man in this room who could swear to that.”

“That’s true Sansa.  There will be no need for a trial.” Jon looked up at her with sad eyes. She noticed he held Arya’s limp hand in both of his.

“He was the Queen’s envoy!  His sister is married to the Queen’s Hand! He was Lady Magarey’s last remaining brother!  She will not let this go!” Panic has her in its grip.

“Will people always be trying to kill us and take Winterfell?” Rickon asked. 

Sansa didn’t know how to respond.  The silence that followed Rickon’s comment told her no one else did either.

“After so many years of war, after losing so much, many of us want peace.  So we let go of old grudges and we build friendships and alliances where we can and we do our best to keep them, but there will always be some people who value their own advancement above peace in the realm,” Ser Davos said gravely. 

That was the last thing Sansa heard before the room began to spin around and faded into blackness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The lyrics of the Rains of Castamere (otherwise known as The Lannister Song) which commemorates Tywin Lannister's destruction of House Reyne that appear in this chapter are reproduced from GRRM's A STORM OF SWORDS.


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter for you all. 
> 
> In a nice change of pace nothing much happens in this chapter BUT some fluffy sansan.
> 
> Thanks for reading and to those of you who leave comments & kudos... nice to know you're still there after I left you hanging so long...

The first thing Sansa is conscious of is being held by strong arms.

“You need to put her down so I can examine her properly.”

“No. I’ll not let go of her, not till she wakes.”

Sansa sighs at the sound of his voice.  Of course, she is in his arms.  No other arms could ever make her feel so warm and safe. She wants to see him so she opens her eyes.  They are no longer in the Great Hall.  They are next door in Bran’s solar. Sandor is sitting in the big chair next to the hearth, holding her close to his chest.

“My love?” Her voice comes out as a whisper.

“Little bird?” He is looking down into her face, his eyes soft with concern.

“Will you put her down now Lord Clegane?” The maester asks.

“No.” It is Sansa’s turn to protest.  “I don’t want him to put me down.”

“I need to examine you my lady, you fainted.”

“Did I fall?  Is the baby alright?”

“I caught you before you fell, you just lost consciousness for a bit.”Her husband speaks so gently she feels like his words could melt the icy lump of fear in her chest.

“What of Arya?”

“She’s still unconscious, Lady Clegane. The sooner you let me check you over, the sooner I can get back to your sister.”

“Sandor, will you stay with me?”

“For as long as you wish it.”

Sandor stands up - keeping her in his arms - and carries her over to Bran’s table. He sets her down on the edge and perches  beside her.  Once he’s settled himself he picks up her hand and holds it.  The maester stares at their linked hands for a moment, then he shakes his head and begins his examination.

He runs his hands over Sansa’s head, tilts her face so he can look into her eyes, her ears, her mouth.  He runs his hands down her arms.  Picks up her free hand and examines it, before he holds out his hand for the one her husband holds.  Sandor releases it reluctantly for the maester to examine and snatches it up again once he’s finished. Finally the maester rests his hand on her stomach above her clothes.

“Do you have any pain?” He asks her.  She shakes her head.  “Do you have any idea why you fainted Lady Sansa?”

“I think perhaps the shock of what happened and then ... I saw... I smelled... the blood.” Sansa suggests. 

“Her stomach’s been delicate because of the babe.  I think she needs some of that tea Osha’s been bringing her.”

“I’ll send for some from the kitchens.  You should take her up to bed my lord.  She’s had too much excitement for a woman in her condition, she needs rest.”

“No.”  Sansa tries to argue as her husband lifts her up in his arms again.  “Please Sandor, let me see Arya first.”

“Your sister may not wake for awhile yet.  Lord Stark and Prince Jon are both with her.  They would be easier knowing that you are taken care of.” The maester ventures.

“What of Rickon?  Where is Rickon?” She hasn’t had a chance to discuss it with Sandor yet but if he’s spoken to Bran he must know that Rickon is now their responsibility.

“Osha is with him.” Sandor answers.

“I gave him milk of the poppy.  He was very distressed when you collapsed. He’ll sleep the night through with Osha and his wolf watching over him.”

Sansa gives in, in truth she is very tired and she wants this day to be over.

* * *

Back in their chambers Sandor helps her out of her dress.  He uses a rag and cool water from the ewer to give her a rudimentary bath.  Then he brushes and braids her hair with his own hands. She is grateful for his attentions to her – she does not think she could bear it if anyone else tried to touch her tonight. 

By the time the wildling girl Ann arrives with her tea Sansa is settled under the furs in their bed wearing her night-shift.

“Is there any news of my sister?”

“She has still not woken, milady.  Lady Brienne carried her upstairs to her room.  Lord Stark, Prince Jon and the maester are all with her. Prayers are being said for her in the godswood.”

“Thank you Ann.” The girl leaves Sansa with her husband and her tea.

“I took her to that wretched wedding.” Sandor mumbles under his breath. He sits beside their bed in a chair he dragged in from the other room.

“You thought you were returning her to her family.  You didn’t know what Lord Frey was planning.”

“I hit her over the head that night, I’ve never told you that.  She wouldn’t leave and I knew it was death to stay.  Maybe that’s why she won’t wake now.  Every soldier knows you can’t take too many blows to the head.  And she has such a little head.”

“Sandor this is not your fault.”

“Why were they even playing that damned song?”

“My love, this is not your fault.  Arya is strong, she will wake and she will be well. We must not fall into despair. Come to bed.”

“I should guard you while you sleep.”

“You’re my husband not my sworn shield.  I’ll sleep better with you by my side.”

“I don’t know if I can sleep tonight Sansa.”

“You’d best try, my brothers will have need of you in the morning.  We must get to the bottom of what happened.” 

Her eyes follow him as he rises from the chair.  As he crosses the room to bar the door, and again as he drags a heavy chest in front of the door for added protection. She watches him remove his tunic, his mail and his undershirt.  Then her eyes follow his hands as he uses the water in the ewer to clean his face and his upper body.  He is beautiful to her but she can’t recapture the desire that burned through her earlier.

“I’m so sorry we won’t have a proper wedding night,” she says.

“As if I care about that,” he snaps, as he crosses the room to the bed.  She feels the mattress dip as he sits to take off his boots and then again as he settles himself into bed with her.  She reaches for him, she can’t help it.

“I care,” she says, “I was looking forward to it.  I love you, I love being with you, and right now I want you to hold me.  I just want you to hold me.” She feels his arms wrap around her, pulling her close, she feels his warmth, can feel the steady beat of his heart against her back.

“I love you little bird,” he whispers close to her ear and she snuggles into him, as close as she can get.

* * *

Sansa opens her eyes in the middle of the night - suddenly awake and afraid - to see his grey eyes staring back at her.  He is lying on his side, turned toward her.  She can see him clearly as the fire in their chambers is still burning brightly, he must have been getting up to add wood throughout the night.

“Have you slept at all?”

“Some,” he answers.  _Liar._

“Would it help to talk about it?  I’d listen. I’m still so confused about what happened.”

“Everyone’s confused.  Most of the soldiers were in their cups and once the fighting started they all started drawing steel.  It’s a miracle we didn’t have a massacre on our hands.  It was your brother Jon who stopped it.  Him, Ser Jorah and the direwolves, the rest of us did no more than keep the fools away from the dais.”

“But who started the fighting?”

“That Tyrell fool, and some of the Queen’s men with him.”

“And what of the poison?”

“I asked Brienne to ensure all the unspilled goblets from the high table were taken to the maester’s room and locked away there.  He will examine them once he has done what he can for Arya.”

“Did Lady Mormont catch the poisoner?”

“I’ve never known that woman to fail at any task she set herself too; she’ll have him alright.”

Sansa lifts her hand to stroke his face.  She brushes her thumb across the scarred side, traces the line of his brow, where his eyebrow should be. Then she moves to cup his cheek in her palm, before running her hand down his neck and across the plains of his chest.

“Is there something I could do, to help you rest?” She asks.  He takes her roaming hand in one of his own and brings it back to rest on the mattress.

“No.”

“Do you need to go and check on things in the castle?”

“No. I’ll not leave you.”

“I wouldn’t make a fuss. I was just a little emotional after-”

“Don’t apologise.  You’re with child; we were attacked at our wedding feast; your sister was unconscious in your arms; and Rickon was probably asking you ten questions a minute, none of which you had answers for.  You’re allowed to be upset, and you have every right to ask me to stay with you.  I am your husband and my place is by your side.”

“You are truly the best husband.”

“I am not that little bird.  The truth is I could not have left you tonight.  As it was when Ann brought your tea I was tempted to take the cup from her hand and taste it first before I let you put your precious lips to it.  If I close my eyes I remember I could have lost you tonight.  If I stay awake I get to watch you sleep and check your breathing and remind myself every moment that my little bird is safe and warm in our nest.”

Sansa reaches up with her hand again and tangles it in his hair so she can pull his face to hers and kiss him sweetly.  He kisses her back ever so gently.  She kisses him again a little longer, a little less gently until he pulls away.

“Go back to sleep, love.”  He reaches up and gently untangles her hand from his hair, he brings it to his lips and kisses it before laying it back on the furs beside her.

“I am _your_ love, _your_ little bird, you know that don’t you?” She asks.

“Yes, I know it.”


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a day off work today & guess what I did instead of running the errands I had planned and getting my hair cut? I stayed at home in my PJs and wrote this chapter. Apologies for any spelling, grammar and other errors - I have re-read this chapter so many times now it could be printed on my eyelids so I may have missed something really obvious!
> 
> Sorry for not posting last weekend but life got in the way as it tends to do... there probably won't be a post this coming weekend either :-(
> 
> A warning for smut in the middle of this chapter...
> 
> I hope you enjoy...

“Are you sure she didn’t drink any poison?” Jon asks. He is sitting in a chair in Arya’s chambers; his chair close is drawn close to her bed so he can hold her little hand.  Bran is on the other side of the bed sitting in another chair, holding her other hand.

The maester clears his throat before speaking.  “There’s a bump on her head but no visible bleeding.  Her mouth and throat are unmarked.  Her breathing is deep and even.  That’s a good sign.  Young Rickon swears he never saw her drink from her cup.  We don’t even know for sure there was poison in all the cups – I haven’t been able to check yet.”

“What about Sansa?”

“She was awake and well when Lord Clegane carried her up to her room.  I am sure he will take good care of her. As she alerted everyone else to the poison I doubt she would have failed to mention consuming it.”

“But neither of my sisters are fainters.  I doubt Arya has ever fainted before; and I imagine it is a rare thing for Sansa.”  Jon noticed his brother and the maester exchange a significant look.

“What aren’t you telling me? Is one of them ill? Are they both ill?” Jon looked between his brother and the maester.  The maester bows and walks across the room to the open door.

“Good night, my lord, my prince.  Do not hesitate to summon me if there is any change in Lady Arya’s condition.” He says, before stepping outside and closing the door securely so the two guards posted outside can’t hear what is said inside the room.  Jon turns back to face Bran across their sister’s bed.

“It’s not common knowledge yet; and it won’t be until all our southern visitors are gone but Sansa is with child,” Bran almost whispers, “her stomach has been somewhat sensitive as a result.”

“Is that why she chose to remain with Clegane then, for the child?”

“No. They are - both of them - quite besotted with each other. He accepted that lordship – the one I have been trying to give him for almost four years - without a whimper of protest when I told him it could partially satisfy the Queen’s demands if I married Sansa to a lord.”

“You must know there is no chance that the Queen will ever be even partially satisfied with this mess.”

“Of course she won’t be.  Despite the efforts I made to hide my true feelings; she will always suspect I defied her. It’s a dangerous thing to defy a monarch.  One day it might put you in a difficult position.  You might have to choose between the wolf and the dragon.”

“You think it will come to that?”

“The Queen meddled in the affairs of House Stark.  Whatever her intentions, her actions placed assassins within the walls of Winterfell.  Her actions threatened the happiness of a most beloved sister and I may yet lose Clegane’s service because of them. I’ve given him his own Keep and he may take Sansa and retire there if he so pleases; with Rickon as well.”

“Rickon?”

“Clegane and Sansa will foster him.  Rickon’s wanted it since he first laid eyes on Clegane and Sansa again and the gods know he needs the guidance of parents.”

“And Arya?” Jon looked down at his sister’s small hand resting in his own on top of the furs of her bed; then at her pale face and her dark hair spread across the pillow.

“She’ll do as she will; as she always does.  Spend time with me; time with you; time with them if the situation calls for it.”

“You really think Clegane will take Sansa and Rickon from Winterfell?”

“You can’t say he wouldn’t be justified.”

“Because you tossed him in a dungeon for disobedience?”

“Oh no, he doesn’t care about that.  He practically allowed me do it in truth.  He doesn’t much care what people do to him.  He expects to be treated badly – the whole time he’s been here I suspect he’s just been waiting for me to disappoint him.  It’s Sansa’s distress he cares about, the threat to her safety.  If I want them to stay I need to make us all safer.”

“What do you mean to do?”

“What I must.  Arya has been listening to our visitors - the southerners see me as weak – Lord Eddard Stark’s crippled boy.  There is no answer to that but to make myself stronger, and to make Winterfell and the North stronger with me.  To be safe we must be seen as strong again.  And I’ll not use my siblings to make alliances.  I’ll make that known across the North, and if the Queen asks, you can tell her so.   Arya says she’ll never marry and if Rickon says the same, or fixes his eyes on some Wildling girl I’ll have nothing to say on the matter.”

“That’s not how things are done Bran.”

“It’s how I mean to do them.  Father betrothed Sansa to Joffrey.  Mother betrothed Robb and Arya to Freys.  Vile matches every one of them.  Robb fell in love and broke the Frey betrothal and it cost him both the war and his life. Not to mention hundreds of other northern lives.   Loyalty that has to be bought at the cost of Arya or Rickon’s future happiness is worth nothing to me. I hated perusing the offers I got for Sansa, and I’ll not do it again. And poor Sansa, after what she’d been through with Joffrey, Tyrion and Baelish I knew she was terrified at the thought of taking a husband, as much as she tried to hide it from me.”

“But it worked out, the match you made for Sansa.”

“Only because I have the sight, and even then I couldn’t be sure.”

* * *

**_It is the wedding night she always dreamed of: one free of uncertainty.  She knows her own heart and that of the man she married.  Her lord.  Her husband.  She is not nervous.  She feels no obligation to do her duty in the marriage bed.  What they are about to do will be a pleasure for them both.  She does not fear being barren, how can she when their child is already growing inside her?  Her brother has made Sandor a lord and she will give him his heir: a boy with hair as black as night.  She wonders what colour their son’s eyes will be: grey like his father’s (like her own father’s) or blue like hers (like her mother’s). Either would please her.  She would like her son to be the image of his father, but part of her would like him to carry some part of her with him always.  Black hair, blue eyes and his father’s physique might make him look too much like a Baratheon though.  She shudders at the thought, even though she knows Joffrey was never a Baratheon in anything but name. He certainly never looked like one._ **

**_“Cold?” a low voice whispers close to her ear. They have been cuddled up in bed for what feels like hours but she knows what is coming. She has felt him creeping closer, wrapping his arms tighter around her, has felt his arousal growing against her back as his fingers began to stroke the skin of her sides, her belly, beneath her breasts. The gentleness of his touch, the deftness of his large hands has always surprised her. She sighs and snuggles in closer to the muscular warmth of his bare chest._ **

**_She puts her hand over his where it rests on her belly and guides it down until it rests between her legs.  She can’t help the moan that rises to her lips the moment he starts to explore her folds, she is so aroused his touch is almost painful but if what she feels is truly pain then the pain is exquisite._ **

**_“Make love to me,” she whispers and she does not need to ask him twice.  He moves from behind her and she lies flat on her back, once she is settled he covers her body with his own. Kisses her forehead, her lips, her chin, her neck as he moves himself into position. Her eyes linger on his manhood – no his cock – rigid, hard, a bead of moisture gleaming on the tip, but she knows if she was to touch it the skin would feel soft.  How odd it is that this intimate part of a man can be so hard and so soft at the same time. This is taking forever! She looks up to see what the delay is and meets his eyes, he has been watching her, watching him.  He smiles at her, she knows his facial expressions now, can distinguish a smile from a grimace even though both are truncated by the scarred side of his lips._ **

**_“Does the little bird like what she sees?” he asks._ **

**_“Yes,” she breathes. “Now I want you to show me how good it feels, how good it makes us both feel.”_ **

**_He slides into her then, slow and gentle, burying his face in the crook of her neck for an instant._ **

**_“I love this,” he whispers so quietly, she almost misses it, “I love being yours.”_ **

**_She wraps her arms and legs around him then, feels him thrust deeper into her in response. She is conscious of his weight pushing her into the mattress, of his thrusts, of his hands caressing her, of his mouth as he scatters kisses over her face, of his voice as he whispers to her everything she has ever wanted to hear.  She feels the pleasure building inside her, she clings to him in a dizzying fog of love and desire and then it stops, her arms are empty, she reaches for him but all she feels is cold._ **

When Sansa opens her eyes she feels disorientated.  The light of morning illuminates their chambers, though the fire still burns.  Her husband’s side of the bed is empty, the sheet cold.  He is sitting in the chair beside the bed again.  He is fully dressed: wearing his mail and his sword belt.  His belt has at least three daggers in it, though his sword itself is on the floor beside him. When she glances at the door, she sees the heavy chest he moved in front of it last night has been joined by a second.

She is conscious of his eyes on her, and when she raises her eyes to meet his she is shocked to find no warmth in their grey depths.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“Better.” In truth she feels a little nauseous; it is the morning after all.  “Do you have any news?”

“No, and I won’t be leaving you to find any.  Don’t even ask.”

“Then we’ll go and find out together.” She says, moving to get up cautiously - as she knows from experience - rapid changes in position make the nausea worse.  He puts a hand out to stop her then, gently pushes her back down onto the bed.

“No,” he says again and his voice sounds odd in her ears, not like his voice at all.  “You’re to stay in bed until the maester says it’s safe for you to get up.”

“I’d be happier staying in bed if you were with me.”

“I am with you.  I’m right here.”

Sansa opens her mouth to ask him what’s wrong but before she can get the words out there is a loud knock on the door.

“Sansa! Sansa! It’s me.  Let me in!” Rickon demands from the other side of the barricaded door.

“Apologies for disturbing your rest so early Lord and Lady Clegane, but the little lord insisted on seeing you as soon as he woke.  I took him to see the Lady Arya first and then to the kitchens so we could bring you food to break your fast but I couldn’t delay him a moment longer.” Osha’s discomfort is apparent from the tone of her voice.  No doubt the Wildlings have customs about what time of the morning it is fitting to disturb a newly married couple.

“Let me in!” Rickon yells.

Sandor doesn’t move from the chair.

“Will you let them in?” Sansa asks in a small voice.

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes, of course.”  _How can he even ask that?_ Her baby brother and Osha, not to mention the food – she suddenly realises she is ravenously hungry.  Sandor gets out of the chair with obvious reluctance and moves first one chest then the other out of the way of the door, before unbolting it.  As soon as the door opens Rickon launches himself through it, runs across the room and leaps onto the bed throwing himself into Sansa’s arms.

“You’re alive!” he exclaims as if he’d been in some doubt of the fact.

“Yes darling I’m very much alive.” Sansa reassures him, rather rejoicing in the feel of a wriggling small boy in her arms. Though she does worry sometimes that Rickon is a little smaller than he should be for his age.

“You! Be gentle with your sister.” Sandor barks and Sansa looks up at him.  He is re-bolting the door behind their two visitors.  Osha has paused at the foot of the bed, holding a heavily laden tray and she is looking - not at Sansa - but across at the door that leads to the rest of their suite of rooms.  Sansa follows the older woman’s eyes to see that her dresser is now blocking that door.   How did Sandor manage to move so much furniture without waking her?

“Why is your dresser there now? It’s blocking the door.” Rickon comments, he can be startlingly observant when he chooses to pay attention to his surroundings. Sansa thinks it best to ignore a question she is unable to answer.

“How is Arya? Is she awake?”

“I’m sorry, milady, there has been no change in Lady Arya’s condition. Lord Stark and Prince Jon took turns sitting with her through the night and they were wondering if you might like to sit with her today.  They have business to attend to after last night’s events.”

“Of course, someone from the family should be beside her when she wakes.”

“No.” Sandor spoke up from his position beside the door.  “Lady Sansa will not leave her bed until the maester gives her clearance to do so.”

Osha motions for Rickon to get off the bed, and he climbs over Sansa’s legs and scrambles into Sandor’s vacated chair before Osha sets the tray down beside Sansa on the bed.

“I brought your tea milady, some bread, some cheese, two apples and a lemon cake.”

“She never lets me have lemon cake for breakfast.  She hardly lets me have cake at all.” Rickon complains.

“Your sister’s stomach’s a little delicate just now.  She needs special things to tempt her appetite.”  Osha puts the mug of tea into Sansa’s hand giving her hand a gentle squeeze at the same time. “I could bring the maester to check on you if you’d like?”

“Please Osha.” Sansa takes a sip of her tea – she is beginning to look forward to its tang on her tongue every day.  With her other hand she pats the bed to indicate that Osha should sit down on the bed. She notices a cup of ale on the tray that’s obviously intended for her husband. Sansa puts down her tea and picks up the ale instead, holding it out towards him.

“Will you come break your fast with me husband?”

“I’ll eat later.”

Rickon snatches the cup out of her hand.

“I’ll take it to him!” he announces darting across the room so quickly Sansa is surprised the ale doesn’t spill. Sandor takes the cup from Rickon easily enough but as often as Sansa sneaks a glance at him she never sees him drink from it.

After Sansa has finished her tea and Osha has excused herself to fetch the maester, Sansa cuts a slice of bread, covers it with slices of cheese and apple and has Rickon take it to Sandor.  She is relieved to see him eat it, so she makes him another before making one for herself.  As she nibbles on her own breakfast she sneaks Rickon scraps of cheese and apple and even half of her lemon cake.

“I like having two breakfasts,” Rickon announces, “I think I’m going to have two every day.”

This is the kind of comment that would ordinarily amuse Sandor, but when she looks up at him, he is still watching her with cold eyes.  She feels as though she went to sleep with the man of her dreams and woke up with someone else.

* * *

Osha almost has to push Sandor and Rickon out of the room into the corridor so she can help Sansa dress.

“You must be too busy to help me with this today.  Why don’t you send Ann or one of the other girls?”

“I’m doing this myself because I don’t think Lord Clegane would let anyone else touch you.  In truth he seemed reluctant to let me see to your needs.  What is wrong with him this morning? I’ve never seen him so cold with Rickon.”

“I don’t know.  It’s like I woke up and he was a different person.”

 Osha eyes Sansa’s dresser in front of the connecting door.  “It looks like he was trying to barricade you inside.”

“I think he was.”

“He’s very fond of you, you know?”

Sansa smiles, “I know.  I’m very fond of him.”

It’s Osha’s turn to smile. “I never thought you weren’t.  Men can be strange creatures especially when there’s a little one coming.” Osha rests her hand lightly on Sansa’s belly as she helps her into her dress. “Especially the first one. You’re probably both a little out of sorts too, after what happened at the feast last night.”

“Do you know if Lady Mormont caught the poisoner?”

“Oh she caught him alright.  She’s almost a spearwife herself, that one.  Your brothers mean to interrogate him today. They’ve got what’s left of the Queen’s soldiers and the Lannister men in the dungeons too; even Lord Stokeworth.  They’ve given him a fine cell, and he went into it willingly enough to tell the truth of it. It’s only Ser Davos and those two white knights who still have their liberty. Though if you ask me they should have tossed Ser Barristan in a cell with the rest of them, he and the Lord of the Flowers were as thick as thieves.”  Osha finally finishes lacing her dress and gestures for Sansa to sit so she can do her hair. Sansa looks at herself in the mirror.  It is one of her old dresses – the dresses they took when they removed Sandor’s things from her rooms have not been returned yet and it seems petty to ask for them with all that is going on.

“I am going to have to drape a shawl over this,” she says gesturing to her exposed cleavage.

“We’ll find one once I’m done with your hair.”

“Is Arya truly no better?”

“I think she has a little more colour than she did last night. You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

“Sandor wasn’t happy when the maester said I could get up.”

“Maybe he just wanted to keep you to himself a little while longer.  You are newlyweds again after all, even if there is a babe on the way.”

Sansa bites her lip, and changes the subject. “Did Bran tell you about Rickon?”

“He did.”

“Do you mind?  You’ve been more of a mother to him than anyone and if we move to Autumn Keep... well you’d always be welcome.”

“Don’t worry; you won’t be moving anytime soon.”

“How can you know that? Sandor clearly doesn’t think I’m safe here.” Sansa gestures to the door barricade by her dresser.

“There’s no maester at Autumn Keep yet; and Lord Clegane isn’t going to take his precious wife and the child in her belly to a Keep with no maester is he?”

“No,” Sansa smiles, “he’s not.  It will take time to apply to the citadel; and for them to select a suitable candidate.  Then the maester will have to travel North from Oldtown... by the time he arrives I will be too close to my time and then the babe will be too small to travel...”

“Exactly, and Lord Clegane is fond of your lord brother and is likely to have forgiven him by then. Especially if you, Lady Arya and Rickon do what you can to rebuild the relationship between them.”

“And we can stay at Winterfell, all together, but even better than before.”


End file.
